


The Rigged Mandela Effect

by starespressos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel's a bit of a bohemian, Dean wears more vests than I imply in the fic, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fourth of July, Heartbeats, Identity Reveal, M/M, Musician Castiel, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Online Relationship, Past Abuse, Pining, Slow Burn, Tea, Tea Parties, Temporary Amnesia, Texting, Two Person Love Triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 12:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 102,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starespressos/pseuds/starespressos
Summary: Castiel Novak has been housebound for a while due to an incident that has or hasn’t something to do with his high-school long distance sweetheart James, who’s been gone for years.As Castiel slowly starts to venture outside again, mostly to take care of his tea/party store at first, he both contacts James again and meets a local celebrity of a businessman, Dean Winchester. He falls for him a little, but he’s also feeling for James and the flame that never really went out…And while he tries to decide what to do with his newly-found freedom, he starts discovering inconvenient details about his recent past.





	1. The Crypt Keeper

**Author's Note:**

> Art by the wonderful [Starmouse](http://starmouse123.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> I don't even know what to say.
> 
> This fic has made me laugh and cry and hate and love. The only reason it's coming out as one piece is because I had the honor and the privilege to be beta'd by [Zaphodsgirl](http://zaphodsgirl.tumblr.com/). She persistently peeled my sorry brain off the frying pan time and time again and held my hand while trying to patch around 100 plot holes. I am humbled. Thank you.
> 
> Special thanks to the rest of the Paddock, and to you who helped with me in early stages of the fic: justholdingstill, deancebra, ladyofthursday, you know who you are. I am thank.
> 
> Bear with my formatting with the texts. 
> 
> [Here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1167963412/playlist/7AOFIvk6gVirSlJrzVeD5g?si=u6G4Q4G3TxG7y4Kb2vprSA) be the official, hand-picked as summer roses, playlist for this fic.

Castiel flops onto his back and exhales.

He can count three cracks in the ceiling over and over again as he idly twists the ring on his finger. It's the closest thing he has to entertainment.

No, that isn’t exactly true. The TV is on with international reruns, and the song [Luft und Liebe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWY7qWdgkBw) has been playing long enough for Castiel to have learned the lyrics. Sometimes, he surprises himself by singing along. Then, he starts listening to the TV more clearly – what _is_ that horrible screeching noise? – until he realizes it is, in fact, himself.

It’s a perfect excuse to stop singing and try to get some sleep. Castiel rarely sleeps well, since he spends all of his days burrowed in his bedroom like a weak hibernating mammal. Not sleeping makes him angry at his body for not being able to accomplish the one action that could, in theory, make him feel slightly better.

 _Luft und Liebe_ again. His fingertips caress the Source button of his remote, considering. It’s still early, and he could get lost in an episode or two of _Jane The Virgin_ before Eileen’s visit; but he’d be hungry, and Eileen would notice and want to cook for him.

Castiel sighs and hauls his ass up from the bed. He stretches until both his chest and his back make a faint _snap_ sound, and then shuffles to the kitchen.

It goes without saying that in this condition, he doesn’t do his own grocery shopping. Eileen is considerate enough to fill his fridge with all kinds of fruit that look and taste like the exact opposite of Castiel’s feelings – apricots, tangerines, peaches, oranges, guavas, even an occasional cantaloupe melon. Then she usually stays for a while: does laundry, or reprimands him for self-neglect and tells him stories from work. So far it sounds like they manage the store well without him. Isn’t he needed for more than bookkeeping and placing orders? It's been months since he last visited the premises – and the turnover seems fine, as far as he knows. So no, he isn't needed for financial statements, either.

How uplifting.

Eileen is, by a landslide, the person that visits him the most, but sometimes Kevin comes around as well. They usually spend time binge-watching some quality TV together and laugh as if nothing has ever been wrong, but those days are growing rare now. Kevin started to take some university classes,and besides work that takes most of his time. Balthazar called early on, stating all his love and support, but instantly deciding not to visit “the crypt of despair” that would not only ruin his mood but also wouldn’t help either of them.

Castiel doesn’t blame him. Were things the other way around he wouldn’t, either. There's an aura of admiration between Balthazar and him, but it's the type that causes competition, too. They’d always want to outdo each other and show off a bit, and while it's done in good spirits, Castiel wouldn’t have been able to deal with it during these months.

He does agree about the crypt reference, but it's already becoming more of a coffin. There are piles of blankets and dirty clothes all over any visible surface, tea bags that have been used and tossed aside, plastic wraps, fruit peels, opened and unopened bills, books – enough stuff for him to be easily buried under. He tries not to think about dying, and whether it would change anything in the long run, since he's already dead to the majority of the world.

There are still two tangerines on the table that he vaguely remembers removing from the fridge. He takes them and returns to the bedroom.

As the day turns into evening, the people that practiced _Luft und Liebe_ earlier have their ultimate showdown performance. It's sparkly, loud and overwhelming. Castiel blinks at the TV until he's angry enough to shut it down.

Silence comes immediately and it envelopes him like a sleeve – it's uncomfortably suffocating, hot and heavy, and makes Castiel feel like death has come already. He lifts a hand up his chest to feel his heartbeat, but he’s been lying down for so long it's hard to find. It's still there, he assumes, a slow, steady flicker of a life he doesn't really care for anymore but simultaneously feels scared to lose. It's there, trying to tell him to get up, try again, _try again!_ , and all he can do is silently protest and decide to leave the action for another day. Without realizing it, he starts idly twisting the black ring on his middle finger. It's been there long enough for him to think it's a part of his body, but more than that, it's a reminder – a reminder of many things he doesn’t want to remember.  A reminder of a another heartbeat, a connection now lost.

Truth is, he already knows he needs a damn miracle to get through this. It's been so long he’s forgotten basic aspects of his everyday life, and he doesn’t know how to make a return – nor if he wants to in the first place. He does recognize that parts of himself are still in complete denial, and that's, what, the first stage in the process of grief? Shouldn’t he be further along already? Sure, there’s been anger fiery enough to be considered rage, and there’s been bargaining; phone calls in the middle of the night, first to Him, then to friends, and finally a prayer to a God he left a long time ago. Every time, though, it ends up right back at the all-consuming, all-devouring grief that makes it impossible to even begin to process his loss.

He can’t bring himself to actually count how long he’s been snowed in by the debris of his dismay, but deep down he knows it has been too long.

It's no use to dwell on these thoughts. Unless the world suddenly decides to end or otherwise force him out, he won’t budge. He has made this space for himself, and he isn’t planning to leave it. There are episodes unwatched -- he isn't at all content with Jane The Virgin choosing Michael over Rafael, but as long as they aren't married, there's still something to be done about the matter. Unlike Castiel's own life, in the family of Villanueva everything is in constant motion.

He lets out a long sigh and peers out the window. It's dark, but spring is already announcing its arrival.

*

Castiel isn't sure how long he's been staring into nothingness when he hears his front door open. Eileen acquired his spare key long ago for two reasons; one, he trusts her organization skills better than his own, and two, he kind of likes knowing there's someone who could come see what's happened to him if he were to die alone.

“Hello,” she calls from the hallway, and Castiel gets on his feet with a groan. They meet in the kitchen, as usual, and Eileen shoots a pitiful smile at him.

“You look bad,” she states, “I hate it.”

 _Is this how you treat your best friend?_ Castiel signs. She scoffs.

_Don't try to please me by calling me your best friend. You're getting the lecture anyway._

_I wouldn't have it any other way._

Castiel takes a seat at the bar table across from Eileen, who now stuffs new fruit in the fridge. They are still orange, little reminders of color that apparently still exists in the outside world. When Eileen returns her gaze to Castiel, he raises his hands in defense.

_Not judging you here. Bring on your scolding._

_I'm in a hurry, so I have to skip the niceties,_ Eileen's gestures are punctual to make a point for the obvious frustration she's harboring, _I know you're still doing as bad as you were a week ago._

“Wow, thanks for the faith in me,” Castiel says. Eileen tilts her head, making her hair partly fall on her face. She huffs it away and tries to smile.

 _I've always had faith in you_ , _my friend,_ she says, _but I'm at the end of my rope. We never talk business, because Kevin and I decided it's better if you don't stress about that, but it's spring and orders are coming in faster than we can deliver.It's stressful on all of us, and while I hate to admit it, you're the best in organizing most of the things we deliver._

 _“_ You really think so?” The compliment almost thaws his sub-zero heart a little, bathes his chest in a warm hue, but it's been chilly for too long for anything but _almost_ to have an effect.

_Of course. I came here to ask you to at least think about it. We need you on the team, Castiel._

“I can't,” he answers, unable to even think about the possibility, “it's been too long since I last got out. It's too much to jump straight into the season.”

_But you're going to try, right?_

Castiel shakes his head. He wishes for the conversation to be over with already, wishes for Eileen to be gone. He wishes he was hanging out with Jane already.

_You've got to try, Castiel._

He sighs and tries to keep his movements calm. _Please don't do this, not today. Don't force me_ _before I'm ready._

_When are you going to be ready then?_

_I don't know._

She groans and grabs her keys. Castiel gets up, as if to beg her not to leave angry. She knows that already.

“I'm not mad,” she says, “I just can't do this for much longer.”

He walks her to the door, to ensure minimal amount of bad blood left.

 _I think we could talk about this on a better day,_ he says.

It's in Eileen's eyes – when is that magical better day? - but she just nods.

Castiel knows he should think about what he was told today. He knows he'll need to start taking responsibility of The Non-Partisan Tea Party, since it's his labor of love and he's the CEO. His friends are being unfairly patient with him, and he's pushing his luck already.

Instead of thinking, he's quickly absorbed in Jane's life. There are continuous plot twists, drama, and heartbreak, but they're always evened out with retribution and declarations of love. Castiel wishes he was as brave and unyielding as Jane, that he had the same sense of justice. He could well see himself in the protagonist, but considering the situation he's in now... Instead of them really bonding and becoming best friends for life, Jane would just feel sorry for him.

Is this really the life he wants for himself? Why can't he think about the future? It's like he’s placed a cover tightly over memories that should stay forgotten  -- but since Rafael and Michael are in a heated argument right now, Castiel lets the thought slide.

*

It's dark when he wakes up with a gasp, a sharp, fast inhale that hurts his lungs – and his heart is thumping loud in his chest, ringing in his ears, echoing all over his body.

 _Fuck_!

He's on his feet immediately. It's not the first time he's surprised by a nightmare or- or night terrors, and he knows what a panic attack is, he knows the drill.

It doesn't help to know he’s been diagnosed with anxiety disorder when he feels his chest is being burnt alive by an all-consuming miasma of flames, and he’s trying to inhale, inhale, inhale -

He walks around the apartment, from the kitchen to the living room, back to the bedroom, and then to the bathroom since he feels like he's about to throw up. He vaguely remembers something his therapist told him to do in situations like this, but he can’t recall the exact advice, and it's not like it would help anyway. He went through different guided exercises, mostly mindfulness -- but those were covered outside a panic attack and that’s a completely different setting, a different atmosphere, a different world. Besides, now that he tries out his pulse again – he's dying. Yes, that is definitely tachycardia, this is how he goes out.

Even though all of his senses are burning up and dissolving, there's something off. It's like there's a time bomb ticking somewhere in his body – tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-TICK! - and it deepens Castiel's anxiety. What's this sensation? While his feet are still taking him around the apartment, he's trying to feel around his body, head, shoulders, knees, and toes, but panic swoops over him again and makes him groan. _This is how I die. This is how I die._

After what seems like a thousand more rounds, he starts to notice changes. His blood doesn't feel like it's made of acid and stones anymore and the adrenaline in his muscles is turning into laziness. He sighs and bothers a look in the mirror. Tired, depressed, failed. But no longer dying.

As he makes it back to the bedroom and slides between the sheets, he still feels the ticking. Now that he's more coherent he can place it exactly on one finger of his right hand. It feels like a pulse, as if there's a paper cut trying to heal—

A new gasp escapes Castiel's lips and he raises his hand almost ceremoniously.

The ring has been dormant for a long time, so he hasn't consciously thought about _James_ in a long time. He hasn't thought about the ring that once pulsed with the heartbeat of a person far away – a ring received around twenty years ago. For the past eight years, it has been lifeless.

Until now. Now, it pulses with new-found vigor against Castiel's skin. He stares at it until his vision gets blurry. He sniffles and takes a deep breath, letting the comforting pulse of the heartbeat on his finger lull him back to sleep.


	2. The Runner

Castiel wakes up with a start, but as soon as he feels the heartbeat still there, he calms down. He basks in the familiar, forgotten feeling for a while before getting up, trying not to stretch before making coffee since it's, according to an article, bad for muscles. He stopped reading health articles a month or two ago, after Eileen told him it's not going to make him anything more than paranoid, but it doesn't keep him from remembering the details.

He hops up on the bar table while waiting for the coffee to brew, absently noticing he usually doesn't feel this energetic on a morning after a night spent panicking. He lifts his hand to look at the ring again as if he could see the pulse.

“Hi there,” he sighs, his voice gravelly from sleep, “it's been a while since I've felt you around. What's the occasion?”

 

James was, in many senses, Castiel's first. He was his first internet acquaintance, his first MMORPG ally, his first friend, and his first love. They had a profound digital bond despite their real world distance, although they never shared personal data or pictures of themselves. Castiel could remember the many nights they spent together on the phone, just chatting over nonsense and falling into comfortable silences in which they might, or might not have, listened to each other breathe until they fell asleep. Castiel was a teenager back then, and his mother always tried to find out what exactly he was doing with a stranger who could've been a fifty-year-old pervert. The fact that they were currently both going through puberty and having their voices change did nothing to prove her wrong.

Then James wanted to send him the ring. Since Castiel had told him he was in Miami that summer, he chose a post box at random and gave James the details. It was nothing short of magical to receive a gift from his loved one, and since James had become the person Castiel shared all his secrets and all his firsts with, he put on the ring and swore to never take it off.

For the first couple of months, they just admired them. The software that came with their rings made it possible to control them, and they were both eager to keep them on all the time, since at last they had something tangible of each other. Castiel saved the little letter that came along, too – it had James' handwriting, and he even drew in a heart.

Eventually, of course, time passed. They kept in touch, but once college started it was mostly through emails. It was obvious things had changed, and he’d long been dreading it when James eventually told Castiel he couldn't keep doing this. A while after that Castiel's ring fell silent, with a final email from James to confirm it was a choice rather than something having happened to him: “I'm fine.”

 

Castiel takes his mug, the one that has some Latin pun written in bold red letters on the side, and fills it up. He walks to the window and slides the curtains to the side only to realize it's the first time since forever he’s done that. _Hm_. James is still getting some of his firsts.

*

He makes it far into the afternoon before the guilt kicks in. Not only is he most likely responsible for James eventually leaving, he's responsible for ending up in this situation years later, where he's unable to leave the house. Before he can get into a full spin of guilt-caused anxiety, he puts Jane The Virgin on and indulges himself in plot twists.

But it leaves a little space in his brain for consideration: after eight years with no  connection, suddenly he’s back. Why? Does he  want to reminisce? Does he  want to... To explain, after all these years? Or is James simply seeking comfort from a familiar feeling, without even aiming for more?

What would Jane do in this situation?

Castiel scoffs. She would immediately check out her old email address in case James had written him. She'd use her wits to seek James out in person and then wonder whether it'd finally be time for them to meet. She wouldn't have dealt with a long-distance relationship in the first place. She would have always known what she wanted.

 _No, no_ , Castiel says to himself, pausing the show and walking to the living room window again. One of the reasons he could relate to Jane so much is because, sometimes, she's uncertain. She doesn't always know what to do, and there are times when she's less than self-confident in matters of the heart. Eventually, though, she'll know, and that can be only achieved by following her heart.

There's the problem, though. If Castiel decides to follow his heart now, he should listen to it. And if he listens to it now -

Well, he's been here for more than four months without listening to his heart. If he starts doing that now, he’ll break.

A voice in the back of his head says _but aren't you already broken beyond repair?_

He sighs and decides to return to the TV. It's safer just to see how Jane is dealing with her writer's block.

 

He can't concentrate. It's nagging away at him, first in his head, then on his ring finger, then in his whole body. He walks across the apartment, tries to exercise mindful breathing, and then scolds himself for failing. It's not a full panic attack, but it's anxiety that'll end up harmful if he doesn't stop it from proceeding. He knows what he needs. He needs something to yank himself away from everything.

He looks at the ring, fully aware of his hands shaking as he does, and takes it off. A high-pitched whine escapes his throat then, and the sudden feeling of emptiness forces him to put it on again. Alright, definitely not doing that. If there's nothing else left in his world except this one thing, he's _not_ going to let it go. He's lost too much already.

As he's getting readjusted to the pulse in his finger, he feels it speed up. First, up to around a hundred beats per minute, then over that – he can't count the amount, it's too fast, too distracting. _What is it, James? Is everything alright?_ Castiel tries to feel his own pulse, but it's way too high for him to try any breathing exercises to calm it down now. So on a whim, the first one in ages, he decides to try to match his own heartbeat rate to James'. He checks that he's wearing some pants, zips up his hoodie, puts on shoes, takes his keys and leaves through the door.

He's enjoyed running almost as long as he's been alive. Ever since he was a teen he's been running, climbing trees and cliffs, challenging his legs to take him faster, further away, higher. Of course, running after being homebound for months isn't exactly like riding a bike – all his muscles are begging him to stop -- but he pushes on, runs until he's dizzy and feels his heart pounding against his ribs, trying to get away from him. He bends over and supports himself on his knees, groaning loudly in protest. His lungs are killing him and he's shaking, but the heartbeat against his finger has calmed down.

_Did that help?_

It takes a while longer for Castiel to realize he's actually outside, standing by the sea, and there are _people_ in there. Children, adults, adolescents, elderly; more than he can count, and more than he's seen in a long time. The mid-April sun is giving its full force on his black hoodie and he needs to take it off, but that'd leave him so defenseless...

He grits his teeth and gets rid of the hoodie. It's a ratchet t-shirt he's wearing underneath, but nothing he wouldn't wear while running on a good day. The breeze immediately latches onto his damp skin, but instead of freaking out it makes Castiel calm down. He's outside. The world hasn't ended. The ring is sated, too. All in all, good work.

Speaking of work...

He spins around, trying to figure out where exactly he is. It'd take him ten minutes to get to The Non-Partisan Tea Party if he walked by the sea. He could push his luck and take the tram, but riding without his travel card would be too mentally exhausting. It's an overwhelming day as it is.

He starts walking, still a bit short of breath, and keeps his eyes on the shore. He doesn't want to run into any familiar faces. That'd be too much, and he doesn't want to see how people react to him. He didn't take a look in the mirror immediately before leaving, so for all he knows he could be a mess. He’s sure he looks tired, he knows he's pale and malnourished, and he really would like to do something about all of this soon.

*

 

It's Meg's shift. She's currently serving an older man at the other end of the store, leaving Castiel time to look around and get familiar with the place again. Tea Party is a beautiful store, absolutely stunning, the atmosphere set by a fireplace and tinted glass. The scents, carefully chosen each day to hint towards what's on their Daily Blend table, carry out the door on days it's open. Today, it's orange peel and neroli.

Their main product, loose tea, is placed in glass jars and packages. They have their own blends they pack in various-sized bags, and they change with seasons, holidays, and city events. Sometimes, they have honorary blends and sometimes Castiel just feels like making something out of nothing. That’s how the Daily Blend was originally born. He’s happy to know that his employees have carried on the tradition, and even put a couple drops of essential oil on the plaster diffuser by the door. It's a good thing he's built over the years -- and since today's people are ready to pay a little extra for service, uniqueness, and quality, they are doing well.

That isn't all they do, though – ever since Castiel met Meg, they’ve also provided party planning services. Castiel’s still in charge and has the final say-so of both the store and the services, but Meg’s previous experience as a wedding planner definitely brings something new to the table.

Both tea and parties, then.

Castiel nods at the customer who leaves, but gets an alarmed look in return. Oh, he should definitely have checked the mirror, then.

“Clarence Novak,” Meg says slowly, her lip pulling up in a half-smile, “well, I'll be damned.”

“Will you?”

She huffs, walks to him and gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“What's been keeping you?”

“Like you didn't know,” Castiel says, looking around a bit awkwardly. Surely there's customers hiding somewhere that they could distract themselves with?

“I know what initially made you stay at home. But what I have no clue of,” she gives him a once-over, “is why you never left.”

“These things take time, Meg,” Castiel sighs. There's a tone to her voice he doesn't like, but he knows it's caused by his inability to take harsh words about his choices yet. “I didn't choose to stay home. I just wasn't able to leave.”

“I know, sweetie,” she says, and this time, the caring in her voice is genuine. “Come, I'll make you some... Coffee?”

“That would be nice,” he nods and gestures towards some of the jars behind her, “if you won't mind me enhancing it a little.”

“I know you,” Meg says and heads behind the counter to put on the espresso machine. Then, she spins around to take a binder in her hands. “And you want to check the bookkeeping, too.”

“Sure,” Castiel says, a bit distracted. Did he really just come here? “I will. How has it been?”

“All in a day's work. We've got a couple of parties to attend to, but nothing spectacular.”

“Want to talk about those?”

“No, you're not coming here to talk about work, mister. I mean, _suuure_ , we can talk work. But first we talk about what the hell happened to you and why you're here now.”

“I- uh. I don't know, to be honest,” he says, still nervously gazing around, “I think I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

“Alright, alright, not gonna pry anything out of you. I don't care that much,” she says with a smirk, “now get over here and check the books. Balthazar and Kevin have been taking good care of them.”

Castiel follows Meg's order and takes a seat on the saddle stool behind the counter. While Meg's tending to a new customer, he drinks his coffee with a chocolate and cinnamon twist and checks how his friends have been doing.

Another customers comes in and looks at Castiel expectantly. For some reason, this causes his blood rise to his throat. He's not ready for customer service – he's barely ready for-

“Be right with you,” a voice calls from behind him, making him twirl around in his chair. Balthazar is, in fact, here. He looks at the customer for a moment longer, then lowers his gaze to Castiel. For a second, he seems startled, then scoffs. “You find what you need, boy?”

“Very well. You've been doing remarkably here.”

“I know,” he sighs, “although, of course, you didn't expect anything less.”

“I didn't, my friend,” Castiel says and feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. How long since he last smiled?

“Does this mean I can visit again? I'm sure I left some DVD's at your place.”

“I think I'll send an evite or something. It'll be soon, don't you worry.”

Balthazar nods and walks over to the customer.

 

Castiel stays for a moment after he's done with the bookkeeping, even puts in a couple of orders for a new gunpowder and a black tea he could use as a base for a refreshing May chai blend. While he's saying goodbye to his colleagues, promising to see them again and to return to work sooner than they can imagine, he feels all his strength running out. He can barely make it through the streets and back to his apartment before he collapses.


	3. The Launderer

It takes Castiel five days to get back to his pre-running homebound routine.

It takes him two days to wake up and brew some coffee. It takes three days to turn on the TV, and all of the five days to get a shower. As he exits the steamy bathroom in a robe, it feels like his lungs are working better than before, like he can breathe well for the first time in a while.

He brews more coffee, eats cantaloupe, orange, and even a peach – a fruit he's always considered suspicious due to its suede-like surface. He opens the back door to the patio and the other one to the front yard, giving his apartment fresh air for the first time since December. He inhales and exhales with ease, blissfully still ignoring any breathing exercises his therapist gave him. He's achieving something here. Almost high from oxygen, he picks up his phone and sends a message to their Tea Party group chat.

“Bring hamburgers and wine. Let's binge Jane.”

Sure enough, after Tea Party closes, all of his colleagues – Meg, Balthazar, Eileen, and Kevin --, are scooted up on his queen-sized bed, drinking wine from the bottle, and shouting at the TV whatever they're rooting for to happen. They also seem to understand the finer points of the show; how it's actually very little about choosing guys, and more about choosing life routes that suit Jane best. Being squished in between all of his friends makes Castiel feel fuzzy and warm. His heartbeat feels calm, satisfied, almost not as broken as before. The ring in his finger is currently in sync with his own and he gives it a small smile. His friends all know about James, but they’re obviously not aware of his return yet. He will tell them if he feels the need to. Now isn’t the time, though.

After finishing their binge, they decide to continue their healthy lifestyle choices with pizza. They gather around the bar table and end up casually discussing upcoming tasks at work, while they wait for their delivery.

“So, we have a bachelor party downtown on May 14th,” Eileen says, “they just need a performer, you know, a casual club thing. We thought to do it ourselves. Then there are graduations coming soon after.”

“That's true, it's graduation season soon,” Castiel sighs, “it's like I've been asleep for years.”

“It's alright,” Balthazar says, “not like we need you or anything.”

“I know. So, performing ourselves? It's been a while.”

“It was Halloween when we last did that so yeah, we need to rehearse a little,” Kevin agrees. Castiel feels his hands getting numb. He's not ready to get into rehearsing routines. Eileen glances at him.

“You could just make a setlist out of songs you've performed before. It doesn't need to be anything new, right?” she asks.

“No, that wasn't specified,” Meg says. “We could use old songs, yeah, and just have a couple of practices together.”

“Or I could, you know,” Castiel says, “practice the singing part here and we could have one practice, the final one, together. I'm not certain I'm ready for anything more, yet. I mean... I aim to come to work, but besides that, I think I need all my extra time at home, recovering.”

Balthazar sighs. “Whatever, princess.”

“Alright, first of all,” Meg states, “please stop putting your accusations in that form.”

“What?”

“Are you calling Castiel a princess because he has demands? Do you consider women to be demanding? Are you making a generalization there?”

“Wow, no,” Balthazar says, “I... See, Castiel? She's been taking good care of us while you've been gone.”

Castiel hums in agreement. “I can see that. Please, answer her question.”

“No, I didn't mean princesses are weak, Meg. Or that women are princesses. Or that women are weak. Or demanding. Old habits die hard.”

“Thank you. Next time, know better,” she says.

“I will just use your average asshole instead, then.”

“I prefer you wouldn't use anything,” Kevin says. “It’s rude.”

“Besides, he was just pointing out what he's ready for. He's not being demanding,” Eileen points out. Castiel hopes everyone would be quiet for a moment. Why isn't the pizza here yet?

“I think it'd work, anyway,” Balthazar finally says, maybe for consolation, “as long as we don’t bring anything new to our setlist and have at least one practice together.”

“There's still time until that needs to be decided,” Kevin says. “Although, we did a pretty solid set on Halloween.”

The pizza arrives seconds after, so they decide to continue later. All in all, it's a successful, albeit tiring, night.

*

Castiel is surprised to find out he's not tired the next day. He expected to need at least five more days of recovery again, but as it turns out he's feeling brisk the morning after. It's far from a perfect situation, and there are probably relapses still to come, but with the heartbeat so prevalent on his finger he feels content. He brews coffee and hops up on the bar table again. It's always been a constant – and now it’s a place for him to relax, to think, and to feel just a bit like past Castiel. The one without all the drama, the one without his heart broken to smithereens, the one who still had bright eyes and quirks and jokes that nobody understood but most wanted to. He doesn't mean to dwell in the past again, but somehow his thoughts return to James.

They’d exchanged songs, movies, TV shows, stories, even writing -- everything but their true identities. Castiel always wanted to write, and James sometimes dabbled with poetry – it was harsh, but beautiful to read, since he'd obviously gone through a lot. Castiel isn't sure if he ever got the complete image of James' past, since there was always something he seemed to be hiding besides his name.

James knew him as Steve. It was normal, and common, and far from his real name.

 

 

Castiel does laundry. While he is glad that Eileen has been taking care of that for him, he seems perfectly capable now of sorting out his own socks. As he takes a seat on the floor, he constantly feels like he’s forgetting something. They didn’t decide on a day for his return to work yet, did they? Kevin sent him the calendar app they’re using now, so he needs to check that out soon. Scratch that - he enjoys his state on the bathroom floor, so he’ll just bring his tablet here.

The calendar seems fine. There’s a couple of graduation parties at the end of May, but the bachelor party is the only thing in their immediate future. Kevin has already started to put in possible days for practice, and although Castiel feels a bit of a stab in his chest for not being able to participate, he wants to keep focusing on what he’s capable of for now. Kevin has also put in weekly order dates for the store and, via a link, Castiel ends up in a spreadsheet with default order items written in. Damn it, Kevin is handy. Did Castiel even see exactly how handy before all of this? He should promote the guy, whatever promotions there could be in a store this size. Orders executive?

Castiel could even designate all the annoying work to the others and focus on making blends. He could make new scent combinations out of essential oils and eventually start selling perfume, too.

He snorts at this line of thought, and it echoes in the empty bathroom. Well, maybe not perfume. He’s not sure how it would fit along with party planning and tea in the long run. But the thought of him actually planning things again… It makes him feel almost joyful.

He scrolls around some news articles while the laundry machine goes into a full on centrifuge drum solo. Nothing particular going on; although, in this day and age, it’s always better to just skim over the headlines and not get too deep in thought with them. There’s tons of things wrong in the world, and it makes Castiel feel selfish, too. He’s here, having an existential crisis and a meltdown, possibly depression to accompany his anxiety disorder, but there are much worse things going on in the world around him, and those things aren’t going to wait for him to get better.

It should feel like motivation, but it feels like guilt.

He decides to try breathing exercises again but fails. Before his frustration can become persistent, it’s time for his weekly therapist appointment on Skype.

“Good afternoon, Castiel,” Dr. Redfield says with a smile that’s most likely genuine. He’s looking at _himself_ on the screen, after all. “How’s your day?”

“I’m fine,” Castiel replies, his stoic voice echoing in the walls. “Thank you for asking.”

“Where are you?”

“In my bathroom.”

“What brings you to your bathroom, Castiel?”

“It’s also the laundry room.”

“Is that so?”

Castiel sighs and tries not to roll his eyes. He’s been through more important conversations in his life, that’s for sure.

“There has been definite progress since we last talked, in that case. Last week, you didn’t do your laundry.”

“I was just being lazy, I think.”

“Now, now. You shouldn’t underestimate your improvement. What has changed?”

“I wanted to do my own laundry. I didn’t want to bother people anymore.”

“Do you think that’s what you are? A bother?”

“More often than not, yes, in my current state I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Your friends would disagree with you, I’m sure of it.”

“Well, of course, but that’s because they’re biased.”

Dr. Redfield looks like he’s chewing on something, which is his tell when he’s considering.

“You’re such an interesting character, Castiel, let me tell you that,” he says, the hesitance exceedingly present in his voice, “but we’ve got to work on your self respect. Currently, it seems like you place little value on yourself.”

“Well, currently, I’m of no value. I’m sitting on my bathroom floor, not exactly providing for society. I think today’s society needs heroes more than ever and instead I’m here, unable to leave the house for long.”

“Why can’t you start by being a hero to yourself, then? You need help as much as the next guy.”

“Because I have no real struggles to overcome.”

“Well, that I have to disagree with. You’ve had your fair share of demons.”

This is almost breaching what happened in December. Castiel winces.

“I don’t want to become a victim.”

“Nobody is saying you will become a victim. Now, let’s reel back a bit. You said you’re unable to leave the house for long. Does that mean you’ve already left the house?”

“I guess.”

A glint lightens Redfield’s eyes, and it almost feels like caring.

“That’s remarkable!”

“I don’t think so. I just visited the store and went for a run.”

“Wow, you’ve really outdone yourself.”

“I don’t think so, but I’m glad you do.”

“What’s the cause for this? Clearly, something has changed.”

Castiel glances at his hand, placed next to him on the tiles. Could he be ready to talk about the ring, and about James? If he opens the lid on this, he’ll eventually have to circle around to what made him homebound — it does all weave together at some point.

“I got fed up,” he decides to say, “I just got fed up with my laziness.”

“We’ve talked about this. You’re not lazy for wanting to take some time for yourself.”

“But five months? That’s not ‘some time’. That’s seriously affecting my co-workers. That’s affecting everyone around me and again, we’re coming to the whole selfish thing. Let’s change the topic.”

Redfield raises his eyebrows, and chews on nothing for a while.

“Alright, as you wish.”

Castiel can see him making notes. He’s frustrated enough to feel his heartbeat rise now. Immediately, he feels the pulse on the ring pick up as well, and it fills his chest with a _fondness_ that he can’t remember feeling in a while.

Then it hits him. It’s not Dr. Redfield he should be talking with.

*

He’s pacing back and forth.

His clothes are hung out to dry, and he’s finished his therapy with no real breakthrough — although he saw that coming. What he didn’t see was how determined he’d suddenly feel about contacting James after all these years. It can’t even be that much of a reach, really; James has put on his ring already, so it isn’t like he isn’t thinking about Castiel.

Knowing this doesn’t help Castiel open up his email program or form a message. He isn’t even sure he remembers the password for the account he used back then. It would definitely be better to carry on and let new things happen in his life. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to at least open up the account, right? That’s what Jane Villanueva would do, he thinks; she’d check her email immediately and then proceed on a plan of action.

Castiel misses binge-watching already, and it’s only been a day. It would be so easy to slide back into his habits.

Why _doesn’t_ he?

With a sigh, he opens his tablet again. Alright, he knows how to work with a gmail account. It isn’t what they started with back then, but since their older email client slowly stopped offering support and died out, it was a mutual decision to make accounts on something they believed would be around in the future. Castiel isn’t sure if James actually decided to also invest in some Google stock. He’d come into to some money if he did, that’s for sure.

He’s received a lot of emails during the years he’s been away. Most of them are from online stores and accounts he used to use for gaming, for movie services, or for Internet-based magazines and newspapers. Apparently, they miss him very much and are sad to see his credit card information has changed and they can no longer charge him his monthly subscription fee. There’s also a message from Charlie, his other online friend; she stayed around for longer than James, but time has not been kind to their friendship, either. She’s a gamer and an enthusiast of every culture phenomenon starting with Star, but also a generally nice person. Castiel wasn’t scared enough to lose her and eventually told her his real name, to which she giggled and waved the whole thing off.

She sent a link to a YouTube video about cats.

The mailbox hurts,and for a moment he wants to run and forget about it. Instead, he bravely presses the Answer button on Charlie’s mail.

_Hi Charlie,_

_This is the content I’m here for. I love the ginger tabby. He’s up to no good and doesn’t even care._

_Castiel_

He presses Send and exhales. He deserves some tea for this, and since he’s now seated on the bar table, he only needs to reach out a bit to put on the kettle. Some Chai would definitely soothe his nerves as he prepares himself to send James a message.

_~~Hey Hi~~ Hello James,_

_~~I don’t really know what to say~~ _

_~~I saw you put on the ring and I thought~~ _

_~~I know I shouldn’t contact you~~ _

_How have you been?_

_Steve_

It takes a whole mug of chai latte to finish the message, but before he can hesitate any longer he sends it. Then, with a squeal aimed at nothing in particular, he hops off the table. Maybe if he goes for a run now, James won’t notice how much his heart rate went up simply by thinking about this?

The truth is, Castiel kind of wants him to know exactly how hard it is for him.

Before he’s decided either way, Kevin calls.

“Hi, Castiel,” his voice is apologetic, “I’m sorry, but could you come up to the store? We need your help.”

“You do?”

“There’s a load of tourists coming tonight,” he starts.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel interrupts, “I’m not ready to get back to work with that many customers.”

“I was kind of hoping I could send you the paperwork and you’d take care of the taxes. Deadline’s today, and orders need to be put in, but even if we get everything done over here during reasonable hours… It won’t be good work.”

“That I will be happy to assist with. Send me everything, I’ll make it work. And- And sorry I can’t be there.”

“You could always come here to clean up after the people leave.”

“I might,” Castiel hums, “it’s not like I’ve got anything special going on here anyway.”

His tablet makes a _pling_ sound to point out an incoming mail. Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat until he figures it’s probably Kevin sending the information as they speak. Did he log out of the old account and return to his recent one?

He’s pretty sure he didn’t.

“I’ll let you know if we need you. Until then, have fun with taxes.”

“Will do,” Castiel says, already fondling the sides of his tablet nervously. “Thanks for calling. This is exactly the type of thing I’m happy to help with.”

The email is from Charlie and it takes Castiel’s feelings for a rollercoaster ride that he hasn’t endured in months — first, he’s angry at himself for not logging out, for some reason, then, he’s disappointed it isn’t from James, and then he’s happy to hear from his old friend.

_Catsteel!_

_O shit whaDDUP?_

_No, sorry, I’ll try to keep the memes to a minimum. Don’t know fluent you are with ‘em. Then again, you might be so savvy you realize dat boi is a meme of the past and we’ve now moved into an era of post-memes. I’m rambling when I’m nervous. I haven’t heard from you in years, Castiel. What’s going on? How are you? I love you._

_Yours forever,_

_Charlie_


	4. The Retailer

More days pass by, and Castiel notices he’s started to want some things again. He wants something specific to eat, he wants to read, he wants to go for runs. He does allow himself all that at times, but keeps the exercise to a minimum in fear of exhausting himself. He also answers Charlie’s email in a way that he hopes will seem like he’s interested in talking to her again, while also pointing out that he’s not ready to talk about anything personal. After a week has passed since his friends last visited, he can’t see any reason for not returning to work. Besides, a weekday morning shift is the best possible option for a soft slide-in.

As he takes a firm stance behind the register, his heart beats fast despite how ready he thought he was. He’s brought some items from the back room to make blends in the front, and for the Daily he’s aiming for a lavender-based white tea. Mostly, he’s doing it for the calming effect — he already put some lavender oil on the diffuser and it’s gently soothing him. For the first hours of the day, he’ll be alone. Meg will come at 1pm, and they’ll close up together.

Castiel used to always stay in the store through the opening hours. Does someone still stay throughout the day? Is that even necessary? He dreads the thought that they’ve been doing so well without him. Of course, it’s a blessing to have such a good staff, but what if they realize they were better off? In the back of his mind Castiel knows he’s the boss of the establishment and could fire them all if they bad-mouthed him, but he would never do that. They are family, and the fact they’ve been patient enough to wait for him through these times speaks in higher volumes than words can.

Luckily, a young woman steps in with a stroller and gives Castiel a warm smile, and the appearance of a customer stops his meaningless line of thought. “Hello there,” Castiel says, “how may I be of service?”

He surprises himself with how easily he manages to get back into the routine, and before he knows it he’s taken the customer through the finer points of loose, black tea.

“Autumnal flush is tea harvested in the autumn time, obviously, after the rains,” he finds himself saying, as though he’d never been away. ”Unlike the other flushes, the autumnal is bold, rich and dark, all in all a fuller experience. I think you’d do well with a bold choice. We could add in some ginseng, and maybe orange to freshen out the full taste.”

“Sounds good to me,” the woman smiles, “and I’ve got six colleagues, so if you could count how much I need to make it last a while, at least, I’d be very grateful.”

“Got you,” Castiel says and returns to the counter. He grabs some dried orange from the bag he’s brought up for other purposes, but for ginseng he needs to make a quick trip downstairs. On a whim, he takes some gold drops made of sugar and adds them to the generous amount of darjeeling blend he’s making. Finally, he presses a Non-Partisan Tea Party sticker to the brown paper bag, and attaches the card. It’s an important thing to add on each of the packages he sells — he wants people to read it while they drink their tea. Although tea has been international for centuries, he’s eager to remind people of the origins of tea culture so at least something, if even only a thought, is passed on to the people who have made it possible. Also, on the other side of the card, there’s information of their fair trade rules and information about the origin of their teas down to the farmers themselves.

“Thank you,” the woman says, eyeing the window of the bag, “it’s really beautiful.”

“Put it in a glass jar, store in a cool, dry place. That’s my advice.”

“Advice taken. Thank you… Castiel,” she grins, taking in his name from where it’s embroidered on his white shirt. “I bet you’ll have customers out of all our workers soon.”

He offers her what he thinks is a smile, but is probably closer to an eyebrow lift.

 

*

As the morning turns into afternoon and Castiel has finished his ylang ylang, lavender, vanilla, limeflower mess of a Daily Blend and Meg has joined him, sales start to pick up. He’s serving someone more often than he’s not, and he fills up blend shelves, sweeps the floor, adds essential oil drops to the diffuser and answers the phone. Still, it doesn’t feel like too much, quite the contrary — if they had too much time to talk, Meg would start chatting about things he isn’t ready to talk about yet. It isn’t like Meg wouldn’t care about his feelings, but she’s also the type to just cut to the chase.

When they’ve cleared up the rush of clients that happens between three to four pm, and the sun is still shining brightly through the dusty windows, a tall man steps in. Meg is currently serving a customer with gift packages, and the man looks at Castiel questioningly. He swiftly moves from behind the counter to greet him.

“Welcome to The Non-Partisan Tea Party, and good afternoon. How may I help?”

The man nods, looking almost impressed at the politeness he is encountered with.

“Hi,” he says, “I’m here for two reasons. Let’s get to the selfish one first, because it smells freaking delicious in here and it makes me crave tea. What’s that — lavender?”

“Lavender, indeed, to accommodate our Daily Blend of… What I’ve come to call The Nonsense Blend. You might want to excuse me, my game is a bit off.”

“Ah, so you must be Castiel, then,” the man says and then blinks at Castiel’s shirt, “like it, obviously, says right there.”

“Yes, that would be me. I don’t understand how you gained that from The Nonsense Blend. Although, maybe I should. Are there nonsense rumors going around?”

“No nonsense,” the man assures, “I just read about the store from a blog the other day, by a tourist that had visited and really recommended it. They’d done some background research and found out you’ve been traveling for a while.”

There has been an announcement on their website about his hiatus, mainly because they’d wanted the customers to contact Meg or Balthazar for order and booking issues instead. But traveling? That’s a nice way of putting it.

“And now that I said my game is off, you figured it’s because I’ve been AWOL. That’s a clever deduction.”

“Glad I didn’t study for nothing,” the man chuckles, “Quid pro quo, though. I’m Sam. Nice to meet you, Castiel.”

He offers one big hand for Castiel to shake and then turns towards the teas, placing his hands on his hips.

“I want something Ayurvedic.”

“Alright, then. Ask and you shall receive, but you might want to remind me of the ways of the ayurveda again. I know we’re looking for a caffeine-free herbal blend, but I’m not certain I remember the qualities of the doshas.”

“I’m impressed that you know that much.”

“I have to know my teas, or I’m out of a job rather quickly.”

“Well, it’s all how you perceive it, really. It’s an unbalanced Pitta issue. I need tea with roses, fennel and ginger, and maybe licorice, even cardamom. I’m not greedy, I’ll make do with less than that, and you could even throw in a surprise ingredient.”

“We do have those ayurvedic ready-made blends again, Castiel,” Meg says while she’s walking towards the register with her customer. “Took them back in after New Year.”

“Clearly, you did,” Castiel says and clears his throat. “Wouldn’t have missed that kind of a detail.”

“For what it’s worth, I’d rather have an exclusive blend made by you,” Sam says with an earnest smile. “I’ll even tip you. I’m eager to see if you really are out of touch or if you’re as good as my research says.”

_“Your_ research, now?”

Sam blushes slightly. “Well, after I read about the store from that blog, I ended up in a deep pit of other blogs… And they speak highly of you.”

Castiel tilts his head. Is this guy for real? He seems harmless enough, though, so there’s no need to get upset over his research.

“Alright. I’ll make you a blend, then.”

He chooses ginger — plenty of it to really kick off the blend — licorice and fennel to balance each other out, with grand, white rose petals, dried, on top. He breathes in the scent and adds a couple drops of essential peppermint oil. Then, he takes the bowl and brings it to Sam to smell.

“Whoa — it’s really good,” he confirms, “those are some quality ingredients you have there.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. What do you think, would your Pitta problems be sorted out with this?”

“I seriously hope so. I’ll gladly take it for a spin. Also, I wouldn’t want to miss your Nonsense Blend, so I’ll have an ounce of that as well.”

“If you’re sure you want to take the risk,” Castiel hums, “would that be all?”

Sam’s face swifts from comfortable to awkward instantly. “Well, no. I actually thought I…”

“Do tell,” Castiel says, and proceeds to pack up the new blend.

“It’s not only tea you people make.”

“Well, obviously. It says so on the title, Sam. What did you say about your studies again?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah. So, I can’t say anything. And by that, I mean _anything_. But if I wanted to come visit one of your parties, for research purposes… Would that be a thing I could do?”

“Well, it depends on when you’re planning to come and what you wish to see.”

“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you’re doing would give me a clue of what capabilities you possess.”

“All that comes to mind is a bachelor party in a couple of weeks,” Castiel says, idly placing the sticker, “other than that it’s graduation parties, and I doubt you could get in there without anyone questioning your motives.”

“Where’s the party?”

“At a bar downtown. It’s closed for a private occasion, but the guest list is long. We’re allowed to invite our own people and I don’t have anyone coming, so I could fill you in through that.”

“It would be me plus one, is that alright?”

“Sounds fine. Uh —” Castiel stretches over to the side of the counter to get his hands on their business cards, “our store number’s on here. Hit us up with a text, and it’ll get to me even if I’m not at work. I’ll send you the details then.”

Sam scrutinizes the card, mouthing some words, and then nods. “Will do. Thanks, Castiel.”

“You’re welcome,” he nods, too, more solemnly than Sam, “and here’s your tea.”

“Right! Huh, this is nice packaging.”

Now, Castiel’s not that good at reading people, but he quickly realizes there’s still something unsaid. Sam hasn’t calmed down since his initial turn to awkwardness — he’s still tense around the shoulders, and fidgety around the hands. Is this due to the loss of his balance in Pitta?

“Is there…” Castiel ventures.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “there is. And just… Just kick me if I’m stepping over some boundaries here, okay? It’s a gym, but there’s other rooms, too, for classes to be held separately. I have taught some yoga classes there but I go alone, too, if I’m feeling sort of… out of place. And uh, in return for the bachelor party, I’m inviting you. I could show you a bit of meditation and yoga to balance your mind.”

Although blood climbs up Castiel’s veins and into his temples, he lets out a light sigh. He can admit he’s been off work for a while, but for a stranger to guess he’s been mentally unstable just by looking at him… It’s too much. “What- What makes you think I’m imbalanced?”

There’s something pained in Sam’s expression, but he covers it up nicely. “Point taken. I’m sorry. Thanks for the tea,” he says with a hint of a smile that fades fast, “And I’ll be in touch with you regarding the… The party.”

Sam begins to leave, and Castiel can’t stop the words from escaping his mouth, although he kicks himself both during and after them. “Hey, Sam? I apologize. You’re right, I’m on edge. I’m so on edge it feels uncomfortable when someone mentions it.”

That rewards him a smile. “Yeah, trust me, I know. And I’m not asking for a story. I was just genuinely offering help.”

“I am grateful for that. You rarely see kindness from strangers these days.”

“Trying to keep that up, then. So, if you change your mind, or didn’t make it up yet, here’s my number,” Sam says, and hands over a card — not an official business card, but one in his pocket clearly for new people, “hit me up anytime, let’s stretch.”

As Castiel waves at Sam’s departure, Meg slides to stand next to him.

“You know he’s totally asking you out for a quickie, right?”

*

Turns out, Sam wasn’t totally asking Castiel out for a quickie.

It also wasn’t the reason Castiel agreed to meet Sam at the gym the next day. After he finished work last night he was tired enough to sleep well into the following day, and he woke up with a weight on his chest. He couldn’t breathe it out, nor talk himself out of it, and he was rationally aware that some struggle was likely to happen — it was only his first day back at work after such a long time, and to not need space afterwards would be a miracle. He wasn’t anxious, not really; more depressed and disappointed. As he checked his email for the fifth time that day with no answer from James, he knew it was time to do something, or at least try.

First, he ordered in food. It was his go-to during disappointment days. A full box of Chinese noodles and spring rolls always grounded him. Then, he dug through his tea collection for something licorice and peppermint related. He had no idea what he was doing — it was unlikely he’d find solace in the same ingredients Sam needed.

But that’s how he came to think of Sam, to dig out the card and call him, and to learn that Sam was actually headed to the gym in a couple of hours.

So here he is, lying on the hard floor that’s not at all softened by a sad excuse for a yoga mat, palms up, breathing shallow even though Sam points out, time and time again, that he needs to breathe with his diaphragm and not his chest. It feels bad, like choking, and Castiel hates it. He states this aloud, and Sam laughs.

“You’ll get there, trust me,” he says, “when I first heard about it, I felt like an overstuffed turkey and wanted to make a run for it.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Exhale. It was seven years ago, maybe? I was a late yoga bloomer. Only got into it after college.”

“If that’s what makes you a late bloomer, what does that make me?”

Sam laughs, raises his knee to wrap his hands around it, then lifts himself off the yoga mat in a ridiculously fluid motion. “It makes you an adventurer, maybe?”

“I’ll take that,” Castiel answers, and gazes upon Sam, “what now? Do I need to get up?”

“No, today we’ll focus on breathing. And talking, if you’re up for that.”

Castiel scoffs at that. “What are you, a closet psychiatrist?”

“Oh, no, no! Nothing like that. I just wanted to point out the option’s there, if you want to chat up with someone you don’t know. You know, for an outside view on things. But first, let’s fix that breathing.”

This makes Castiel notice he’s switched to his normal breathing habits again — and he’s almost hyperventilating.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can. This is how you’re supposed to breathe. Place your hand on your diaphragm, please.”

He does as he’s told and instinctively alters his breathing to match the new pose, making his hand rise and fall gently.

“See? You’ve got it.”

“It’s not the technique I haven’t got down, Sam, it’s the lack of oxygen I’m worried about.”

“You will not pass out, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I’m afraid of passing out all the time. Now I’m remotely safe when I know I’m not alone.”

_Why did I say that?_ It’s enough that Sam thinks Castiel is pathetic and felt it necessary to invite him for some amateur therapy session; he doesn’t need to find out Castiel’s also the type to spin himself into panic mode with irrational fears.

Sam doesn’t say anything, which is thousand times worse than his faux pity would’ve been. Castiel feels he needs to fill the air with something, so he speaks his mind.

“To be honest, I find it kind of weird you’ve invited me here. Why did you think you needed to do that?”

Sam hums to himself, concentrating his eyes somewhere in the distance for a moment. He breathes in to start talking, but instead exhales with another hum. Castiel tilts his head, trying to read Sam for any tells. It’s no use. He doesn’t know him yet.

“Well,” Sam eventually starts, “first of all, you know your teas and it’s always good to have an expert of any field in your acquaintances, right? You never know when you need a friend who can make chamomile just the way you like it. But that being said, I could’ve tried to befriend one of the other workers in your store. The real reason I invited you here was… Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you said your game was off and I could see it. It’s not out in the open, but… But I’ve been as lost as you probably are now, and I wish someone would’ve taught me breathing techniques back then.”

“What happened?”

Castiel knows it’s not his place to ask, but Sam had already mentioned both friendship and his tragic past in pretty much the same sentence, so the train of modesty had already kind of passed.

“I lost my girlfriend. She died in a house fire when I was 22.”

“Wow. Uh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a while. I’m fine. But like I said, I wish there’d been someone to, you know, kind of see me through it.”

“I- I’ll have you know, I’ve not lost anyone to death. But it doesn’t matter how much you try to make me, I won’t tell you what happened.”

“Oh, I tend to overshare,” Sam says, finally leaning in to a fold, his palms easily reaching the floor, “I didn’t ask, and I won’t.”

“Thanks,” Castiel says, closing his eyes again. Maybe he’s getting the hang of this breathing thing-

Nope.  As soon as he focuses on it instead of talking again, he realizes his breathing has gone back up into his chest. But he’s got a decently good feeling about Sam, so he wants to try again.

 

They hang out at the gym for hours. Castiel makes them a quick-fix blend of some tea bags they have around the kitchenette, and they drink up first indoors, then outdoors on the patio that’s attached to the room. It’s the most comfortable he’s felt in a while, and to think he could achieve it with a stranger… It’s overwhelming, but happily so.

It makes Castiel tired, too. He might not choke on his first five minutes of diaphragm breathing now, but he’s still way off from making it automatic. They didn’t talk about serious issues, but he feels socially drained. As he walks home, he realizes he might need a couple of days off until he’s ready to contact the outside world again.

He’d left his tablet, case opened, on the bar table. As he drinks a tall glass of water, he slides his finger across the screen to light it up. He scrolls though the notifications, most of them from Pinterest and a health app he’s been ignoring since he stopped running.

But then.

But then, there’s an email from James.

For a moment, Castiel fears it’s a failed-to-send message, but that would be one heck of a long delivery time for a bounce-back. It can’t be an automatic reply, either, for the same reason. So it has to, legit, be a message that James has written with his own hands. No point getting overly excited, though, since it might just be a slightly aggravating question mark he’s been sent.

He rubs his fingertips together nervously, glances at the coffee maker and considers. If he reads the message now, he can reward himself with coffee and Jane. If he reads it tomorrow, he can distract himself with … with coffee, and Jane.

What if it’s something bad?

What if it’s something good?

With a loud groan, he grabs the tablet and taps the email open.

_Hi,_

_I’ve started this message a thousand times, and I know what I’ll write from here on out will not be enough either. I can’t seem to find the right words._

_I think it’s because there are no words in the history of mankind for a situation like this. I tried googling “what do you say to a man who contacts you years after you abandoned him”, but the results were inadequate for my needs. Then, I tried “what do you say when the man you’ve given the other ring to eventually asks why you decided to put your ring back on”, and yeah, you guessed it — thousands of surprisingly accurate results regarding marriage counseling. But you didn’t ask, so I’m not answering._

_You asked how I’m doing. I am currently drinking coffee, it was six am when I started writing this message, and… I’m so tired. I’ve got work to do all day every day, and while it brings the better kind of coffee in my mug, sometimes, in secret, I wonder whether if it’s worth it (of course it is)._

_It’s a nine-to-five (read: five in the morning to nine in the evening) life for me right now, and when I’ve got a day off, I go fishing. It’s you I’m more interested in. How have you been? And- and also, are you alright? There was some weird activity on my end at three in the morning. I shouldn’t ask, it’s none of my business, you could be havin’ a good time with a fella. But just in case it wasn’t that, you know where to find me. Actually, just in case you need to find me faster: 202-555-0185_

_-James_


	5. The Chatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously; J for James, S for Steve/Castiel.... Stevastiel?

Castiel wakes up with what he first mistakes for a gasp, but is instead an inhale, and an eager one at that — fresh air travels through his throat to his lungs and all over his body, and for a second he thinks he’s a flower opening up to greet the sun. The thought makes him snort, and he rolls out of the bed.

James’ heartbeat is calm, but he’s obviously already awake. As Castiel puts the kettle on to prepare breakfast, he briefly wonders if he will eventually relearn James’ schedule. As soon as he thinks about the man, though, he thinks about the phone number. Should he initiate contact already? They had each other’s phone numbers way back when, but apart from those phone calls at the start of their relationship, they decided they’d be better with text. James probably has a grown-up voice now.

Not that it matters. Castiel likes text.

He makes it to the point where he’s sitting on the table with his coffee mug, until he realizes James has WhatsApp, and also seems to have been online a couple of minutes ago. Nervously, he opens the keyboard.

**S: Hi, it’s Steve.**

He’s glad he has two phones — one for work and one for personal contacts. Also, he’s glad his own number has been private for a long time now. It would be troublesome to introduce himself as Steve and send the message from a number that belongs to a Castiel.

**S: Here’s my number.**

Well, obviously. He deletes the sentence. He decides not to even try to sound coherent. Instead, he lets his mind pour out on the screen.

**S: I’m currently drinking coffee in my apartment, the sun is shining through the windows and I’m wondering whether I should go get some flowers for my balcony already or stay right here, where it’s warm. It’s only April, but apparently it’s the season to start planting things.**

He presses send and groans. What gives? If James wanted to listen to this kind of nonsense, he could just read a blog — not even a good one — and be done with it. This, on the other hand, is far from the ideal message Castiel wanted to send. He just seems like the weird rambler he’s always been, and not interesting enough to hook the opposite party into a conversation. He should have asked something.

His thoughts are quickly reorganized when he realizes the heartbeat on his ring is accelerating. He tries not to think of himself as the smug type, but there’s just no way James’ heart would be fluttering at a time this convenient if it wasn’t for his message.

The phone chimes for incoming messages a full minute later.

_J: Hi, Steve_

_J: I’m glad you took my phone number,  I’m really having trouble finding time during the day to go check my MMORPG email_

_J: Have you seen the handle I chose back then????_

_J: It’s ridiculous and I refuse to give it support by using it._

_J: So this option is good._

_J: Anyway_

_J: Sounds like you’re trying to make life-altering choices in there…  I’ve got a free slot today between 12 and 1, I’ll grab some late lunch and see your pics._

_J: How’s that for a decision?_

Castiel huffs, and smiles. They used to shop like this before. They used to help each other pick bread and milk and wristbands and watches and rings. That was shortly before Castiel realized he was head over heels for the guy, so being reminded like this should have been awkward, but is instead just nostalgic and homey.

**S: Wouldn’t miss it. It’s a deal. Now, let me get dressed.**

He leaves his phone to go digging in the closet. Until now, it’s been mostly college sweatshirts and whatever pants he could find lying around — but if he’s serious about going to get flowers, practically with James, it definitely requires something special. It’s not a date, he’s not going to make that mistake ever again, but still… Feeling alright about his exterior for the first time in forever might make him feel good about himself, and feeling good about himself might make him feel more _like_ himself... and maybe he’s overthinking this, but it’s alright.

He changes into some worn-out jeans, a flower-patterned long-sleeved t-shirt, and a sleeveless hoodie before he bothers looking at himself in the mirror. He looks like he’s been deprived of both his sleep and his dinners for the past half a year; and while that’s not far from the truth, it leaves him feeling exposed in a way he’s not comfortable with. Alright, he’s got a whole set of battle armor he can wear if times are desperate. He puts on his combat boots: he’s got two pairs, so he puts on one green and one black, but it leaves him with the immediate need for more armor. He rummages through his drawers to find bracelets and wristbands, broken watches and more rings, a necklace with wings and a scarf he made out of the common room drapes in college. Feeling slightly like a Christmas tree, he returns to his phone.

_J: Yeah, sure. I’ll wait._

_J: I’m now waiting._

_J: [officewindow.jpg]_

_J: My view is boring. I’d rather be looking at flowers now._

Castiel smiles and realizes that’s pretty much all he’s been doing today. His cheeks are starting to hurt.

**S: Yes, thanks for holding. I now have plenty of clothes.**

**S: Where is that? Are you at work? Please tell me I’m not interrupting your work.**

He checks his reflection and he does look better, albeit still too weak-looking. He decides it’s time to grab a full breakfast, and with the thought of oat muffins and oranges in his mind, he leaves his home without even thinking about how crossing the threshold wasn’t always this easy.

 

*

It’s good weather to walk, and Castiel doesn’t want to push his luck by taking public transport. He sends a quick email to Tea Party chat, stating he’ll be back tomorrow, and soaks in the atmosphere of late spring. He’s got a variety of shopping options in regards of flowers — stores completely devoted to plants and gardening, supermarkets with extensions, and if he were to walk a bit further away, plenty of greenhouses scattered around the city borders. Since he’s already involving James in his plans, he decides to ask him for an opinion.

**S: I don’t really know what I’m looking for. What would you think is the best option for flower shopping? I’m in a city full of plant stores, greenhouses and those hypermarket construction things that have separate plant-ey areas.**

Since it’s only 11am, it’s not likely James will be able to answer right away. It doesn’t stop Castiel from checking his phone every other minute, but it helps him stop stressing about his direction and lets him get into a wandering mood — and also, some self-reflection.

Things have been progressing fast. It seems like only yesterday when December happened, and now, against all odds, Castiel has pushed through the worst and is actually, legitimately, going out again. He’s constantly afraid of the relapse that’s bound to happen sooner or later, but he knows he should only worry about it when it’s time. He might as well enjoy what he’s able to accomplish until that moment comes.

That being said, he should probably tell James that he’s been homebound and that it’s likely he’ll disappear soon. That way James won’t have to worry about him when the inevitable relapse happens — hell, he might even be able to help out a little.

Castiel isn’t sure he needs help with whatever he’s going through, though. He has a therapist for that, and he has friends who would instantly prey on his agony if he were to reach out for help and then… Then there’s Sam, who, for some reason, wants to teach him yoga and breathing. He vaguely remembers the feeling from yesterday, when he thought he needed to shut out the outside world for a while, but that obviously didn’t happen.

Of course, James will eventually need to know the whole truth, but it’s too early to think about that.

 

Castiel makes it halfway to the city center before James answers.

_J: Are you that specific kind of flower person who needs to have everything on point?_

_J: Or can you deal with hypermarket quality?_

_J: Because if we’re doing the whole picture thing it might be weird if you take pictures in a smaller place_

_J: You know, they might want to provide customer service for you and it’s weird if you’re snapping pictures_

_J: Unless, you know, you’ve got a full Snapchat account to keep up with and that’s what you naturally do_

_J: Do you have Snapchat?_

Castiel is currently closest to a Walmart, and although he might get overwhelmed in a place that big, it would also offer him privacy to take pictures. Nobody would look at him twice. He takes a left at the next intersection and picks up his pace. Getting dreamy while walking cost him forty-five minutes and now, if he keeps up the pace, he’ll be indoors by noon.

**S: No, I don’t use Snapchat. My** \- he writes in “store” but deletes it because that feels too specific - **office has an Instagram account, and I really don’t know how to take pictures that are interesting enough for the viewer. I let my staff do that, instead. But you’re right about the pictures, it would be awkward. Luckily, there’s a Walmart around the corner. I’ll be there soon.**

He doesn’t check for James’ reply before he’s through the sliding doors of Walmart. He’s greeted by a slithery-looking man, which makes his anxious heart do a little leap, and he quickly distracts himself with his phone.

_J: Wow, your staff?_

_J: NGL, that makes you sound like a boss._

_J: Are you the boss of your office?_

Castiel flinches. Okay, he needs to correct the office thing. It’s not like James can put two and two together, guess which town he lives in, and that it’s actually tea he’s selling. No way. He doesn’t need to be _that_ careful with the man.

_J: I just got a tuna sandwich, which is less than what I deserve for working my ass off today, and I’m ready for your flowers._

He navigates through the aisles, walking through a cleaning section and ending up in gardening before he’s faced with what feels like an overflow of flowers: lilies, roses, daisies, pansies, carnations, poppies — Castiel immediately takes a picture of the supply before proceeding. First, that message.

**S: Let’s set this straight right away. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me — the need to protect my privacy or something, but I don’t work in an office. I own a store, and yes, I’m the boss. I guess I’m slightly afraid you’ll figure where I work and launch a sneak attack while I’m there, but I don’t really see that happening since there’s quite a lot of stores in this country. Please, eat well. And look what I’m up against…**

**s: [supply.jpg]**

Castiel inhales through his nose and exhales through his mouth, half on instinct to protect his sanity, and half to enjoy the scents that fill the air. He starts towards the roses, gently sliding his fingertip over one of the petals of a white flower, and leans closer to inhale again. He definitely needs some roses on his balcony, and maybe some to accompany him while he’s sitting on the bar table.

_J: Wow, that’s a shitload of flowers, Steve._

_J: How are we gonna do this? Do you have preferences?_

He waits for James to send more messages, since he’s still _typing_ , but it takes a while. Castiel feels his anxiety levels rise, and the group of people that decide to swarm into the flower section at exactly that second aren’t helping.

_J: Why would you want to hide from me? Is me coming to your store seriously such a bad thing?_

Castiel groans. His first thought is to ignore James completely and just get the shopping over with. James could do with a bit of worrying over him as revenge for being so tactless. Then again, the man doesn’t know he’s being tactless in the first place. No point in punishing ignorance. Castiel looks at sunflower seedlings first, and absent-mindedly takes a bag of sunflower seeds from the shelf next to them. He’s not sure if he plans to try to grow some on the balcony, but they are a joyous flower and god knows Castiel still needs his joy. After that, he decides to force himself off the trail of desperate, self-pitying thoughts.

**S: I don’t have preferences. I’m liking a couple I’ve glanced at so far, and you’ll make a color choice for my pansies. As for your other question, I beg for us to have the discussion at a later date. Maybe even this date, but only when I’m no longer in public. Is that okay?**

He can sense how angry his words sound, but James probably can’t pick up on the written nuances as well as he can. With a sigh, he walks towards the pansies and takes a couple of pictures of them.

**S: [violetandyellow.jpg]**

**S: [whiteandviolet.jpg]**

**S: [redandblack.jpg]**

**S: [white.jpg]**

**S: [yellowandblack.jpg]**

James is writing an answer, but Castiel shoves his phone down his pocket and picks up a colored bunch of roses. They smell incredible, just the way his essential oil does, and he’s very proud of that. Some rose oils smell too artificial, and he loves to be able to drop in a scent of actual roses in his store.

He walks to the petunias next, and decides to take a whole lot of them — but before he makes further plans, he sends Kevin a message to see if he’s working today. Usually, he doesn’t bother his friends with his delivery duties, but it’s only once a year for this amount of flowers.

_J: I like the red and black_

_J: Do they have a black and violet too_

_J: Those and the yellow and black ones_

_J: My mom used to have those violet and yellow ones each year and I’m kind of tired of seeing them_

_J: And of course, we can talk later. Hit me up if you wanna talk today, I’ll be off after 4_

_J: Alright, what’s next?_

_J: I like fuchsias_

_J: Do you?_

Kevin replies that he’s got some things to buy from a Walmart anyway, and that he’ll be around with a van in about half an hour. That’s just enough time for Castiel to finish shopping, let James get back to work, and relax before meeting another person. He’s getting tired already. There’s music, people are talking, a register beeps somewhere in the distance, someone’s shoes squeak against the floor-

Again, he uses James to distract himself.

**S: I like fuchsias. Let’s get some. I’m thinking petunias in all available colors for my big window boxes, and clematis vines for my trellis. How does this sound?**

He’s just thinking about going to get a cart for everything he’s going to try to get through the register, but the ring distracts him. Whose heartbeat was this fast first? They’re both intense now. He’s been nervous, but would James try to match his own in a situation like this? He’s eating, and chatting, and looking at Castiel’s pictures… Is he also doing jumping jacks? Castiel shakes his head and fetches the cart.

_J: You sure you don’t need hanging baskets?_

_J: This sounds awesome. Send me pics when you’re done_

_J: And enjoy your balcony with some wine or whatever you drink these days_

_J: Surely not cocktails anymore_

_J: Right?_

He rolls his eyes and sends James an emoji that’s equivalent to the action. He’s about to type in thanks for the help, but James is quicker.

_J: Talk to you tonight. I need to head out early after all_

_J: Sorry_

_J: Send me pics of your flowers and I’ll see them after 4_

_J: Be safe_

Castiel frowns at the last message, but shakes his head again. Now, he needs those flowers in the cart, and then he needs to get home from here.

 

*

Castiel doesn’t send James a message at 4pm, although he briefly thinks he should. He doesn’t want to come off as too desperate for his attention.

Instead, he lets himself loose on the balcony. Before vacuuming, he puts up the trellis and takes a cross-legged seat on the carpet that’s rolled up next to the wall. He can only fit half of his store-bought flowers in here at the moment, so some planting needs to take place before he’ll bring the rest of it out and put everything in order. First, he plants a whole variety of petunias in the long window boxes — red, white, pink, blue, and violet — and hangs the boxes outside his balcony railing. Next, he puts the clematis flowers, blue and white, under the trellis and hopes for them to understand how to grow the way vines are supposed to. Then, before he moves on to the pansies, he decides it’s been long enough and he can send James a message.

**S: Hi, sorry for not answering earlier. I got into an argument with my friend about the amount of flowers necessary for my balcony. Needless to say, it was the same friend who helped me bring them up to my apartment. As for the hanging baskets, not yet. I’ve got my trellis to take care of the upper half of the space — then again, my clematis vines are still babies and need lots of encouragement.**

Castiel hesitates before continuing.

**S: And as for my preferred beverage, I drink tea. Tea, and coffee, because I don’t function well without caffeine. My cocktail days are behind me and I’d like if you wouldn’t bring them up again. It’s not like I want to pretend my college years never happened, I’m just a different person by a landslide and you’d do well to know this.**

He sends the message before he tries to analyze whether it’s too snarky. He knows the answer, but there’s something already shifting in James’ and his relationship — he needs to set boundaries this time, because he doesn’t want to steer into dangerous territories.

Next, it’s time for the pansies. There are some leftover petunias from the boxes, so he puts them next to a set of red and black pansies in a tall ceramic pot that he then lifts to the long white wooden table. He fills the leftover pots with more pansies, and finally decides there’s indeed a hanging pot somewhere in storage, and that fuchsia pair would go well in that. He rummages through the closets before he finds another basket — not the one he was looking for — and returns to the balcony, reading through James’ replies before getting back to work.

_J: Nobody should tell you how many flowers you need on your balcony_

_J: And yeah, sorry for bringing that cocktail thing up. I have regrets._

_J: I have changed a lot as well. There are things I did back then that I’d never do again._

_J: Just so you know_

_J: Anyway, I hoped you’d tell me about that thing that you wanted to tell earlier_

_J: I realize you said ‘maybe’ you’d tell me today and I won’t pressure you_

Alright, time to get serious. Castiel places a hand on his diaphragm and tries to make his breathing come through the right place. After that, he composes a message.

**S: I feel I need to be honest with you. So here goes. And I’d rather you didn’t contact me again if you have trouble understanding what I’m about to tell you.**

His fingers are shaking as he types. He’s making it up as he goes, unsure whether this even is what he really wants to say. It’s an oddly liberating feeling.

**S: First of all, please don’t talk to me about meeting. I don’t feel safe when you talk to me about finding me and coming to my store. I don’t want that. It was a different thing way back when, when we were closer, and knew each other, and trusted each other. And please don’t go into the “don’t you trust me anymore” mode now, because it’s obvious I don’t, and if you’re going to get offended by that, I can show you the nearest exit. That being said, I wouldn’t have contacted you if I didn’t want to be in touch somehow. Now, before I go further into the trainwreck that I am now, I want your OK to what I’ve written so far.**

Castiel is afraid James is going to make him wait but instead, the OK is instant. He sighs, puts on a kettle and chooses green tea for a change.

Now, what to tell?

**S: One of the reasons I didn’t want to bring anything heavy up while in town was because that was the first visit to Walmart I’ve made in months. No, that sounds like a mild thing; that was one of the first times I went out this year. I haven’t gone out in ages. There’s a reason for that, but I hope you understand I won’t talk about it just yet. I haven’t talked about it to my friends, however close they are, nor to my therapist, who’s paid to listen to what happened to me. Yes, I’d rather talk nonsense with the person I pay. Anyway, yeah. Walmart was my first experience in a big store and I’m surprised by how well it went. I’m thankful for the experience, because I think you worked well as a distraction. I don’t know how well you know mental illness, but I’m diagnosed with anxiety; and even though I haven’t been diagnosed with anything else, I also have depressive qualities. I don’t want you to think this is your responsibility in any way, but I’m putting it out there in case it causes trouble in our communication. This is also a heads-up in case I disappear. It’s me having a bad day or a relapse.**

He could keep on typing for ages. Instead, he lets James catch up and throws his green tea bag in the compost.

_J: I see_

_J: Thanks for telling me._

_J: Can I be honest with you?_

Castiel flinches, but sends a thumbs-up emoji.

_J: Alright._

_J: First of all, I’m glad you got diagnosed_

_J: Don’t take it the wrong way_

_J: But way back when, there was something that seemed sometimes a bit off with you, ya know?_

_J: I could’ve kissed the ground you walked on, so please understand it wasn’t anything “bad” you had_

_J: But sometimes I could feel you drifting away and I didn’t know how to help_

_J: You were overly anxious over things_

_J: So not all has changed, huh?_

_J: Hey, I’m sorry for bringing the past up not only before, but again now_

_J: I totally get why you don’t want to meet. And uh, it’s not in the books for me either._

_J: It was more of a joke but I realize now it was not funny. Sorry again._

_J: Okay second of all, you don’t owe me an explanation for what happened, but in case you feel like talking at some point, you know where to find me._

_J: And if you’re having a relapse or fall silent, what would you rather have me do?_

Castiel notices he’s been biting his nails for a while now. He’s frustrated that he can’t just make a telepathic link with James and let him know, once and for all, what exactly has happened and where he’s at now without having to talk it out. But what would he want from him in a situation of distress?

**S: To be honest, I don’t know. I don’t like it when people try to pressure me to speak, and I don’t like when I’m told to “just calm down”. You can try to distract me, I’m always glad to read random stories if that’s what you’re able to do. But I said it already — you don’t owe me anything, and you don’t have to try to figure out what to do.**

**S: I’m grateful that you’re even considering it. Thank you, James. It means a lot.**

He’s finished with the tea by the time he’s done with the message and he feels anxiety just around the corner. He decides to leave his phone for the time being, and head into the bedroom to watch some Jane. She’s just about to get through with her school issues.

*

It’s a given.

If there’s two steps forward, there must be a step back as well, and Castiel knows that.

It doesn’t soften the blow. He wakes up to what might or might not be an impending panic attack, and the sun is up already and mercilessly pounding against his window. When were these curtains opened? He gets up and pulls them shut, which only makes the room smaller. He’s suffocating.

He walks through the hallway to the living room and gently pushes the balcony door halfway open. Fresh morning air fills his nose and lungs, but adds to the feeling of hyperventilating.

What the _fuck_ do you want, body? When is it good? When are you gonna be okay with basic human functions?

He’s too nervous to check his phone. James could’ve lashed out at him last night after his disappearance. It’s a possibility and a legitimate fear Castiel’s struggles with, as he glances at his phone and flops down on his couch instead. He hasn’t sat here since pizza night, why hasn’t he been sitting here more? This spot has a view to the balcony and the flowers. His fuchsias aren’t big yet — they’re barely visible over the rim of the basket. Maybe soon?

He can’t stay in the cool, bright living room for long, and heads into the bathroom. He closes the door and leans against it, then lets his knees bend so he slides to the ground. He doesn’t bother putting on the light, even though the lack of visual stimulation forces him to focus on how wrong his breathing sounds to him. What if James is telling stories right now? What if he’s dealing with this the way Castiel wanted him o, and he doesn’t even bother to check? He groans in the darkness and it echoes through the walls.

He gets up, puts on the light, and goes to look at himself in the mirror. A disappointment, that’s for sure. What if he dies here? What if this is the end?  It isn’t a self-destructive thought of _why am I alive_ , but he doesn’t know what he’d like to achieve. He’s got a stable job, ambitions related to that, and friends, but those are pretty external reasons to live. In his god-forsaken body that betrays him continuously, there’s a fierce, passionate desire to live. Why? He doesn’t even have a bucket list. Should he get one that he could refer to during these unclear moments? It feels like jinxing it. If he finishes it one day, he’ll die. That’s a certainty his anxious brain provides him immediately.

Great.

He washes his hands, then washes them again because they didn’t feel clean enough, and leaves the bathroom. He’s still on the verge of a panic attack, but before it can fully kick in he walks to his phone and taps it open. He doesn’t want to scroll down to see how many messages from James there are. He doesn’t want to deal with it, but eventually he has to. Ripping off a bandaid, no?

_J: I know I don’t owe you anything_

_J: But I’m here and I think if I can help I will_

_J: I don’t know what kind of stories you want to hear, but I might have some in my pocket for a bad day_

_J: Most of them are bad though_

_J: Sorry in advance_

_J: I need to get some rest now, you alright?_

_J: Good night anyway_

_J: Good morning and I see you haven’t seen my messages. Mark me down as worried_

_J: I have to get to work, and I can’t tell you stories right now and I’m angry about that_

_J: So one time, I bought these shoelaces. You know who buys shoelaces? Trendy people. So you can now think I’m trendy while in reality I broke my shoelaces in activities that shoelaces shouldn’t be used in. That’s beside the point tho._

_J: And so I bought new ones. They were flexible and black and I will never again make the mistake of buying regular shoelaces while I could also use flexible ones and have nobody notice._

_J: That was it. That was the story. I told it because I’m currently staring at my shoelaces in a meeting and it’s super boring and_

_J: Hmm. You told me you work in a store so I’m telling you something about my job in return…_

_J: If I text during a meeting, nobody tells me not to. Sometimes I might get frowned upon if I constantly miss my mark on answering a question, but other than that, I’m able to do this._

_J: There are seven people in the room and none of them has stopped me from texting you yet_

_J: It’s not texting if you’re using whatsapp_

_J: Right?_

_J: Whatsapping?_

_J: Please let me hear from you. I remembered one thing about the past that I don’t want to forget. If that’s the only thing we take into our new friendship, let it be this_

_J: We stayed up that night doing heartbeat tests with our rings._

Castiel blushes vigorously and throws the phone across the room with a yelp. No! No, that’s not a memory you take into a new friendship. That had been decidedly un-friendly behavior they’d done that night — they’d talked about what would happen when they met, and got beyond PG-rating with their vivid explanations. Then, they’d laughed at their heartbeats for a while, but it’d gotten bittersweet after that. They both felt the need to meet and the distance had never been greater.

Castiel feels a legit sob escape his lips, and he doesn’t even feel like crying. He needs his friend back, and not this half-here and half-awkward conversation thing — he needs to feel important to James again, he needs to be the first person he thinks about when he thinks about _friend_ or _love_ or _meaning of life_ -

He groans again, this time letting it linger in the air for a moment. No, never again. Never again. He made the decision of staying out of love-related things back in January, and he’s going to stick to that.

Besides, he wasn’t good enough for James back then, so why would he be good enough for him now? No need to even think back to all those times he felt unworthy.

Anger bursts through his lungs and makes him sigh out loud. He decides not to answer the messages — at least, not yet.

*

Eileen wants Castiel to get to work the next day. He does, but only for a short shift of four hours. After that, he takes a long shower, and tries to focus on his breathing. Sam had left him a voicemail during the day, asking him to join a yoga class of just the two of them later the same day. He politely declines through a swift WhatsApp message, because for now, he has other things to do.

First, he vacuums the whole place. Then, he digs through his closet to find a black denim jacket with studs and changes into a worn t-shirt to leave under it.

And he sings.

It’s ridiculous. He sounds like a dead squirrel, then like a dead raven, then like a live raven but still nearly not good enough to make it in their upcoming band practice. He boils some ginger tea and tries to do both breathing and vocal warm-up exercises simultaneously, which ends in miserable failure. There’s a collection of CD’s in the cupboard in his living room, and a stereo on top of it. He puts on music he hasn’t listened to since he was a teenager, before all of the messes in his life, and sings along while he does more laundry and then the dishes.

When he’s run out of ways to procrastinate via housekeeping, he picks up his phone and exhales lightly. It’s time to contact James.

**S: Hi, James.**

**S: I’m sorry for disappearing on you. I don’t even have an excuse, just Real Reasons that I’m going to list right now:**

  1. **I knew my excursion to Walmart would resort in a relapse. It did.**
  2. **Also, talking to someone like this might have enhanced the relapse. Don’t be sorry for that. I’d push you away if I thought it was bad for me.**



He runs his hand through his face and blows a raspberry. He definitely won’t push anyone away. He is not good with the whole self-care thing.

  1. **I said I didn’t want to bring up the past. I know it’s a pipe dream. Of course, we’re different people now, but we’re also still the same people, and to build a new friendship without taking into account our past is… Counter-effective. We pretty much know what we’re dealing with already. We already know our childhood. There are so many memories I’ve got with you I don’t want to throw them away.**



**S: That being said… That night is maybe best left forgotten.**

He turns up the volume of a Massive Attack song and hums along, reminding himself of the lyrics, and then singing along. Would it be possible to bring this into their performance at the bachelor party?

He remembers Sam again. He’d almost forgotten they met not only because he wanted tea, but because he was also interested in seeing them do their work. Will Castiel have to take this into account when choosing songs, or performances? He could ask his colleagues, but surely they’d say yes, because it’s possible that Sam is a future client, and he wouldn’t be able to disagree with them.

Why is Sam coming?

As he reads James’ answers, he wanders through the apartment and into the hallway.

_J: Hi_

_J: I was worried_

_J: Okay that’s beside the point. Sorry for that lame shoelace story. That must not have helped you._

_J: Did it actually make you feel worse?_

_J: And I agree_

_J: I mean_

_J: I know why you want to kind of start anew, because there’ are many things I’d like to redo too, but it’s pointless to try to start completely over. I never got over how badly things ended and I missed the person I used to share a heartbeat with, and who I used to talk to._

_J: I know we’ve both changed, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t remember._

_J: Now, in exchange for pouring my heart out here, could you give me some information too?_

_J: Why don’t you want to remember? It kind of hurts, since like I said it’s the thing I’d like to take along the most_

_J: But_

_J: I’ll get if you don’t, if you’d only kind of let me in a little here_

Castiel lifts his head and looks himself in the eye in the mirror before answering.

**S: You know why.**

Wow, how adequate.

_J: Tell me, Steve._

He leans forward to meet the mirror with his forehead and sighs hard enough for it to fog up.

**S: Because it was one of the last times things were really, truly well. I loved that night. I used to think back on it so much I started to get bitter, you know? About what I’d done wrong, and how I’d do things differently if given the chance. You left soon after, and I never stopped wondering.**

**S: Now, I need to call up my friends, because we’ve got this business thing coming up. Talk to you later.**

He meets his reflection’s eyes again. The guilt has him blushing, but it’s about to get too serious too fast; he’s fighting windmills and he knows it. When he glances at his other phone, he sees Sam’s answered with an OK and a smiley. For a fleeting moment he thinks about taking up his yoga offer. His voice is already open, though, so instead he keeps on singing, and sends his Tea Party chat a message about the upcoming practice.

They eventually agree on next Sunday. It’s a bit over a week until then, and the party would take place the Saturday after their practice. Castiel is swiftly put on the bench for everything but the singing and tambourine part, because that’s his niche, and he gladly lets his people take care of the venue, catering, and security services.


	6. The Performer

During the next couple of days, Castiel focuses on what he believes is called self-care. He keeps his apartment clean, drinks a lot of tea and even more water, makes blends at home and does a couple of shifts at work. He tries to keep his mind set on the immediate future that includes him getting on a stage and singing to his heart’s content. Even though they agreed that Kevin and Meg would take some of the heat and sing with him, he feels nervous to the point of nausea. He still can’t even get through a normal working day without needing recovery time after. Now he’ll have to be at the venue at noon, make adjustments to whatever is needed, and perform through the night.

For some reason, knowing Sam will be around eases his mind. If all else fails, at least he’ll have a yoga instructor to guide him through some exercises while he’s passing out backstage.

Most of the time, he fiddles with his phone. They settle into a regular chatting schedule adjusted around James’ 7 to 4 office hours, and even though they don’t talk about The Night again, it’s constantly buzzing in Castiel’s veins — he’s both eager to wipe any flirty talk off the table as soon as possible, and enthralled by the idea of taking things there. What’s the worst that can happen? Harmless flirting, according to sources that consist mostly of Balthazar, won’t result in anything bad -- and while Castiel realizes it has never been harmless before, he wants to assure that they’ve both changed.

Still, each time the opportunity presents itself, he forces himself to guide the conversation somewhere else; since there’s not much going on in his life that he’d want to be specific on (store and performing are both a no-go since they hit too close to what he does for a living) he talks about flowers, cleaning up, writing, and Jane. James has never seen the show, but promises to check it out immediately, which makes Castiel regret his decision. James will think him foolish for liking a show that soapy — he should’ve claimed to watch documentaries instead, or Top Gear, or a quality drama like Sons of Anarchy.

But there’s something about James that doesn’t let him lie. He feels like James is his only sanctuary in a world where every time he walks out the door, he has to put on a mask to shield himself from the brightness of expectations set both by others and himself.

The thought makes him shiver and he tries to shake it off. He needs to talk to James about so many things before he’s allowed to think like this. It’s too easy to fall back into the cosiness they once had, to forget that they drifted apart once and might easily do so again. Given Castiel’s current situation, he won’t be able to go through that; but as long as they talk every day they’ll grow closer, and Castiel can already feel himself getting soft around the edges and letting himself indulge in whatever is the opposite of bright, hard reality. He can take his phone and hide in the bathroom, talk to James about nothing in particular, or just read him texting nonsense.

The bottom line is he’s still distracting himself from thinking about December.

 

Kevin and Eileen pick him up on Sunday morning, and there’s a take-away tea mug immediately placed on Castiel’s hand.

“Went to the store this morning,” Kevin explains, “to do some inventory. I don’t want to push you harder than you need to be pushed, but what do you think: would you be up for, like, three shifts next week? We’d be able to get stuff done in the venue, get it ready.”

“Sure,” Castiel says nonchalantly, although his mind instantly kicks up a gear on anxiety, “I think I just need to get back to it.”

Eileen, who came to sit next to Castiel on the backseat, grabs his hand and gives it a firm squeeze. “Don’t feel obligated.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Then, as Eileen prepares to say something more, her eyes focus on Castiel’s hands. Without realizing it, he’s been fiddling with the ring on his finger, an idle smile on his face. Noticing her gaze, he stops abruptly and sits on his hands, but it’s too late.

“Castiel!”

“Huh?” Kevin asks, trying to see both the traffic and them.

“Eyes on the road,” Castiel says, and stutters out a breath. No point in denying it now. “Eileen noticed my ring. It’s working again.”

“It’s been working and you didn’t tell us?” Eileen shouts. “I thought it started working just now!”

“It’s been working for a couple of days. Two weeks, at the most.”

“Are you in touch with James?” Kevin asks. Castiel meets his eyes through the rear-view mirror. He looks concerned. Sure enough — even though he wasn’t there eight years ago, he heard stories from Balthazar. He’d been with Castiel when he’d gotten the “I’m fine” message from James, and stood by his side when he’d broken down. Balthazar had cursed James to the deepest pits of Hell, and promised to beat up the man if he ever were to return.

This makes him hesitant about what to tell his friends now. Then again, he doesn’t want to lie — it wouldn’t be fair to them, and it wouldn’t be fair to James. A part, just a tiny one that he shuts down quickly, thinks that maybe this time it’s different, that he’ll meet James.

“Yes, we’re in touch.”

Eileen squeals, but it’s more of a horrified than a happy one.

“Are you serious?”

Castiel nods. “Yes, and I’d rather not hear any objections. It’s very fresh, and I don’t want anyone judging it before I know what’s going on myself.”

“Well… What’s the general mood of it? Are you headed…”

“No,” he interrupts Kevin, “I don’t know where we’re headed, although as you already know I’m not looking for anything romantic. I want my friend back, and right now it seems like that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

_Nobody’s angry at you_ , Eileen points out, _we’re just worried. You have to take care of yourself first, and only then get into new things with James._

_That’s not for any of you to decide_ , Castiel says, _and please trust my judgement._

Eileen shakes her head, and turns to look out the window.

*

_J: They’re just worried about you._

_J: I might have told you before, but I want you to know that if you want to share what happened, I’m all ears._

_J: Not putting any pressure on you though_

_J: So, what’s the occasion? Why are you with your friends on a Sunday?_

_J: Is that rude to ask?_

_J: You told me you haven’t left home in a while, unless there were important things to take care of. That’s probably why I’m asking._

Castiel lets his legs swing back and forth as he’s sitting on the table of their makeshift rehearsal room. They don’t perform that often, so it’d be a waste of space and money to have a designated spot for band practice.

**S: I know they’re worried, but they treat me like I’m a child. It makes sense, considering that I have recently acted exactly like one — unable to provide for myself. I don’t want you to think badly about my friends, they mean the world to me. We’ve grown a lot closer with the company.**

**S: And I do think I need to tell you at some point… And I might even want to. But that’ll happen when I’m ready, and when there’s a good situation for a relapse in my life. That’s bound to happen.**

**S: We’re here because there’s something coming up that requires our attention. It’s like… It’s like having theme days at work, but not at all like that.**

“Castiel, have you thought about songs? What have you been practicing?” Balthazar asks, taking a firm stance next to the drumset he’s finished setting up. He’s scrutinizing Castiel, knowing full well he hasn’t practiced anything in particular, and waiting for him to confess before he can make accusations.

“I’ve scanned through some old music and sang along,” he answers truthfully, “I didn’t know what you wanted, and I thought we could talk about it now.”

Balthazar holds his gaze for a few more agonizingly long seconds, before turning around and sighing loudly.

“Alright, I think we’ll go through our setlist for Halloween last year and see if there’s anything we can use.”

“Who died and made you boss?” Meg asks. She’s done setting up her DJ equipment, hoping to spin some records in between live performances. It’s likely to happen, since they’re supposed to make a full evening of sound. Castiel hopes to be able to borrow her looper at some point today. There’s stuff he wants to try out with it, and hopefully also bring to the performance. He hops off the table, and ignores messages buzzing on his pocketed phone for now.

“Let’s try to keep it nice. I’ve got exams coming and if we’re feeling this aggressive, we’ll use it to our advantage and really kick off with the practice,” Kevin says.

“I’m not aggressive,” Balthazar sighs, “I just think Castiel is a fucking moron.”

“What?” Castiel retorts, and turns his focus on Eileen. “Really, Eileen?”

She shrugs from where she’s sitting on the couch, fiddling with her bass.

“I thought it was important information,” she says.

_You can’t tell my information for me. It’s my stuff, I get to decide when I tell people,_ Castiel says, his hands getting angry and doing little punches in the air. Eileen scowls at him and shrugs, forbidding this conversation to drag on any longer.

“Practice!” Kevin yells, “please, let’s practice.”

Eileen gets up from her seat, plugs in the bass and lets it thrum through the walls. She has told them how it works for her — how she can feel the sounds in her ears and, let’s face it, probably all the way to her core. She can tell notes apart with a combination of vision, feeling, and what she calls “common sense”. It’s mesmerizing to Castiel, and he wants to know so much more; but he does acknowledge trying to break down something that’s only attainable from being unable to hear would be time wasted for both of them. Similar to how Castiel can’t explain to Eileen about hearing by simply stating “you just, you know, hear stuff with your ears”, Eileen can’t transfer the feeling to words.

 

They refamiliarize themselves with the first couple of songs from the Halloween set, getting a feel for each other’s energy and their overall sound. It’s decent — they’re not by any means a band in prime condition, but with a few tweaks they’ll make do for the bachelor party. It’s not a particularly high-earning job for them, nor will it reel in fame and customers. While they don’t measure those aspects when they’re putting in effort, they are allowed to get a little silly. Silly, in this case, means a couple of experimental songs, and after a short wrestle with Meg, Castiel scores the looper for a song, too.

The best part of the day is that while they play, all their arguments and differences of opinion are forgotten. They concentrate on getting some of the details right, and adding some flair to their strong points to pull attention away from the weaker moments. At some point, Chinese takeout  arrives and they sit on the floor in a semi-circle, enjoying dinner and some light topics. After that, they try for couple more songs (Kevin decides to take on a rap song because he loves putting words in a rhythm for some reason) and then pack up their stuff.

Castiel makes it home before he checks his phone for messages from James — but there’s one from Balthazar on top of his screen that he can’t help but read first.

_B: I’m gonna kill him. I’m not even gonna wait to see if he’s good for you. I’m just gonna kill him._

Castiel sighs and although he very much wants to ignore this behavior, he answers.

**C: You must know threatening to kill someone is not a good thing in this day and age. Please, let me make my own decisions.**

 

*

Castiel has one more therapy session before their performance, and then it’s upon them, suddenly — it’s Saturday morning, Kevin calls him every five minutes, and he’s scheduled for a shift at the store before going to the club. No point in losing a day’s sale only to stand somewhere else, and his friends, having planned most of this without him anyway, can really get a move on when it’s about party planning. They’re still glad it’s a simple setting with a simple performance; it would be a completely different thing to guide a hundred children while simultaneously trying to ensure their safety with fences and bring in a thousand balloons without them noticing, possibly hiding a pony and a clown in there somewhere. Still, even though Castiel doesn’t have a preference with parties, clubbing seems like the last thing he wants to do in this stage of his life.

Which reminds him of what his therapist told him during their last conversation. Since he’s already going out, he might want to try out what is called “double-exposure”; while he’s already exposing himself to an anxiety-inducing situation, he could double it with another thing he’s afraid to do. This would result in either a ‘two birds, one stone’ scenario, or one of the situations would outweigh the other. So, if Castiel is nervous about clubbing, he could try to add something even more nerve-wracking to soften the blow.

It brings him here, standing behind the counter of the quiet Tea Party, fiddling nervously with his phone, making patterns on the film of his screen with his fingers. He should really wipe the screen. Instead, he opens James’ and his conversation, scrolling up to reread the conversation they had earlier in the week.

**S: How are you today?**

_J: Shit._

**S: What?**

_J: I’m like shit,_

_J: That’s how I am._

**S: I’m sorry to hear that. Do you want to tell me more?**

_J: No._

**S: Alright.**

_J: Can we use that distracting technique of yours? I need you to tell me a story._

**S: What kind of story would you prefer?**

_J: Surprise me._

**S: Well, it’s not about shoelaces, let me tell you. I’ve got this friend that’s really good in origami. I’d love to learn that, but he says it’s to be learned through self-observation and perseverance. He folded a crane, and then a really crappy boat, and it’s in the back room of our store now, floating**

**S: We call him Captain**

**S: The boat, not the origami maker.**

**S: It’s on this bowl of water… That should be used for other stuff. Think sculpting, and needing to dip your hands in every now and then to work the clay better. The water is for that purpose, but not at all for that purpose, since we’re not selling clay sculptures. And now we can’t do shit with the water, since Captain is there. He’s even accompanied by some greens now, you know, to create that authentic ocean experience for him to sail. It’s really lame and I think we need a fish instead. A gold fish that we could set good example with: you know how people put them in these really small bowls and watch them swim a little circle because that’s all they can do? Well, we’d give it a proper tank and atmosphere.**

**S: Then again, I can’t speak for the people at my workplace, so I guess I should just be satisfied that we’ve kept this boat alive as long as we have. I mean, it could also just dip, get wet and sink.**

_J: I love the story. In return, I can tell you why I need the distraction._

_J: It’s a really bad day at work and I’m at the end of my rope here. I’ve been working my ass off over this project we took ages back, but most of my colleagues would rather stay in the 80’s than make progress. In this day and age, people should be more observant and considerate to others, right? The way my office works is rather… Old timey, in that sense, and I don’t want ‘em to change or anything, but honestly_

_J: They should change_

_J: A bit, if not a lot._

_J: And now it just seems like all the hard work I’ve put in during the last two years is swept away due to their inability to adjust to the modern world._

Hoping James is having a better day today, Castiel starts typing.

**S: I’m at work and it’s really quiet here, apparently due to plenty of things going on in town on a Saturday. There’ll be a rush in an hour or two, I guess, but before that I was thinking I could tell you why I haven’t been going out. Would that be alright with you? What’s your schedule for today?**

He regrets every second that passes from him tapping “Send” to the check marks turning blue, indicating James having seen the message.

_J: I would love to hear it. I’m actually done with my extra work for today, and I’m just waiting for the strength to actually go home. I’m sitting on the couch in my office, drinking coffee from a dumb gift mug._

He’s glad James doesn’t tell him to consider again or ask if he’s certain, because he might have pulled the brakes. Now, he has no choice. He imagines James sitting on his couch cross-legged, focusing on his phone with that lame mug in his hand. The picture is endearing, and Castiel lets himself imagine telling the story next to him, also cross-legged with a mug, the two of them looking into each other’s eyes. That way, what he’s about to voice out won’t sound as menacing.

**S: I already know typing this out will make it sound like it’s not as bad. But for me, it was on my top 5 worst things that happened. And I don’t want you to tell me it wasn’t bad. Can you do that?**

_J: Why would I? Steve, I’d never belittle your experience._

**S: I know. Thanks. So without any bells and whistles: I was left. In a relationship that I thought would be my last, I was left. I was dumped, pathetically, while I was clinging on his ankles, begging him not to go, and he did.**

**S: But it wasn’t the relationship ending that actually broke me. It was knowing that I’d given him practically everything I had and was ready to make sacrifices for that perfect relationship, but that still wasn’t good enough… That’s what broke me. My best wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough.**

Hot, molten lead is stirring in Castiel’s chest. The feeling of insufficiency is back in a heartbeat — it’s not like it ever really went away — and his lungs can’t summon the air necessary to keep him functioning. He takes a seat behind the counter, and exhales, and inhales, and exhales again. It’s not getting better any time soon. His hands feel shaky, but not too much yet; he can see what James is writing.

_J: I’m hitting a bar with a couple of friends tonight_

_J: I can’t figure out what to wear. I’ve been working day in day out and what do people wear these days?_

_J: I spend most of my days in a white collar suit, and want to let loose._

_J: Look_

_J: [wristwatch.jpg]_

_J: I have this watch that’s worth more than me. I feel strangled._

_J: So that’s why I need to let loose._

Castiel almost fucking _gasps_ at the sight of the watch — okay, of course not the watch, but James’ wrist. From what he can see, it’s firm, strong, and a hint of the veins on his arm are visible under the sleeve of his white shirt.

No. He needs to stop. There’s too many reasons not to get swept off his feet by a freaking piece of _skin_. Okay, maybe it’s not any skin he’s getting these nostalgic feels for; it’s that he remembers this arm, wrist and hand. Back then, James used to send him pictures of his wristbands and bracelets — to point out he has plenty and he’s not just lying about owning them to match Castiel — and Castiel used to look at the pictures and think about James’ hands on his skin and hair, soothing him when he was nervous, and showing his love when they were alone. A peculiar set of shivers run down his spine, but then he’s back in check with himself.

**S: Thank you for the image and the distraction it brought. That watch is probably worth more than you, me, and my store combined. Are those actual diamonds? Also, I’m sorry, I can’t give you any clothing advice. I just dress in whatever I can find in my closet. I’m trying to do my own laundry again, but a friend did that for me for a while.**

_J: Do you want to keep talking about it?_

_J: I’m here if you want to talk._

_J: You don’t have to_

**S: Yes, I think I want to tell you a detail that you should know, at least. After that, I’ll try to get some actual work done.**

**S: Towards the end, we argued about a lot of things, but I was being unnecessarily difficult most of the time. He was under a lot of stress and wanted me to understand, but I kept on demanding things. He demanded some, too, but there was only one thing he wanted more than anything else.**

**S: He wanted me to remove the ring.**

**S: He said he’d propose to me if I removed it, and that he’d leave me if I wouldn’t.**

James types, stops typing, types, and stops for around ten minutes. Castiel’s been through a lot, but never has he ever been in a situation this uncomfortable. He stares at the text changing from typing to online, and while he could also dust off or refill some shelves, he’s unable to make himself move. _Why the hell did I say that? Why the hell did I tell him?_

Finally, there’s an answer. Castiel squints hard enough for his vision to blur, as if that would help soften the blow of — of whatever it is he fears.

_J: Oh my god, Steve._

_J: I mean_

_J: I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. You’ve made a sacrifice you never should’ve made and I’m sorry I didn’t even know._

Castiel gulps upon reading the words _never should’ve made_ and sighs. It’s not like he doesn’t know it was out of line to choose a memory over something that was real, but he really wanted a different response from James. He wanted to hear that it’s alright, that he’s here now, and that he understood.

But why would he understand? He left, too, once.

*

Feeling more tired than nervous, and more depressed than anxious, Castiel eventually makes it to the club. He wants to forget James’ words, and tries his best to by not answering him, but it’s there all the same. His spirits are about as low as they were before James returned in the first place, and all he wants to do is get home, hide under a blanket, eat a ton of coconut ice cream while watching Jane. Like Castiel now, Jane has also had to go through some really hard things, and perform nonetheless. He still wishes he had some of the spark Jane carries around. Instead, he feels dull.

“Hello, dear,” Meg says as he makes his way to the middle of the still-closed club. “How was the store?”

“Got busy around eleven, as it does,” Castiel says, and glances around. “Anything I need to know?”

“Everything’s fine, I think,” she muses, “we can ask the bartender to bring drinks for us to the stage.”

“Always about the drinking, huh?” It’s more of a rhetorical question, and Meg chooses not to answer. Castiel lets his gaze slide across the club. There are both booths and tables, decorative LED-lit pillars to give the club a modern feel, and enough dark corners to get lost in, were someone in the mood for some making out.

Castiel’s head instantly supplies him an image of James’ hands gripping his hair. He groans and heads backstage.

Balthazar nods hello from across the room as he enters, and Castiel vividly remembers his threatening message and how things around that remain unresolved. He doesn’t want to deal with it now, though, especially when it seems like he was right in the first place. It hadn’t taken long for James to hurt him, and if Balthazar found out now he’d live up to his promise to beat the living shit out of the guy. Then again, he was about to do so anyway, regardless of James’ behavior.

“Hi,” Castiel eventually says, “getting nervous?”

“Nah,” Balthazar answers. “I can’t wait to get up there. I need to let some aggressions out.”

He seems to almost regret the words after they escape him, but turns back to the drums without apologizing. Castiel checks his phone to see the time, but also to see if there are messages he should be avoiding. Nope, James hasn’t sent him anything, which means that he’s busy or doesn’t care — or that, like normal people, he’s waiting for the other side of the conversation to answer before talking.

It doesn’t keep Castiel from feeling abandoned.

 

The guests are on time, and after some awkward glass-raising to thank the organizers, Castiel and his friends try to see that everything goes according to plan. In the planning phase they’d decided to keep the staff of the club working, so they themselves wouldn’t have to tend the bar or the door. They’d usually stay in the club after the official party was over and use the time to wind down, but Castiel isn’t sure he needs the distraction right now. He’s already looking forward to have a jog in the morning, and usually “winding down” meant enough drinks for a headache.

When the music is set to loud and he’s going through a drink — definitely not trying to get drunk before the performance, but he wants something for his hands to do — he’s reminded of James again. He didn’t tell him exactly why he didn’t want him to bring up cocktails, since he hadn’t been looking for a fight, but the truth is he’d only stopped drinking cocktails after trying to drown in them while agonizing over his and James’ breakup. He went through the whole variety of drinks that bars offered, and more often than not, ended up being carried outside. It wasn’t a long-lasting phase, since drinking quickly made his mental state worse. Even then he never thought there might be anxiety behind his feelings; he thought the feeling of choking and tremors were something everyone went through after a break-up.

He’s aware how much his current situation in life mirrors the one eight years ago — how both times, he was left without his say-so. A rug was pulled from under his feet, and he had to learn how to live again. Still, the differences were astonishing, too. With James it had felt inevitable, and while he was absolutely devastated back then, he was still somewhat functioning. After Bartholomew left, though…

Maybe his breakdown in December was equally caused both by Bart leaving, and him getting a reminder that he had never been good enough for anyone.

He almost feels good for a second, until he remembers the current situation with James. _You never should have done that._

He lowers his gaze at the ring. Why had it had such a profound impact on him in the first place? It’s not like he owed James his loyalty after he’d left; but the thought of taking it off had felt like erasing a whole lifetime he’d lived, and however much he wanted to forget that at times, he couldn’t.

He finishes the drink and checks his phone. There’s a message from James.

_J: I’m not sure if I can do this. I’m sorry._

What?

Castiel is going to be sick. He looks around for the bathroom, simultaneously pocketing both his phone and the damn ring. He can’t do this right now, there’s songs to play and people to please, and so, instead of letting his anxiety surface, he swallows it down. He _hates_ himself for allowing this to happen to him again, and it being the same person for the second time must be a fucking record in how gullible someone can be.

*

Just before their performance starts, Castiel spots Sam sitting at a table with someone. As their eyes meet across the room a smile spreads over Sam’s face, and he gestures for him to join them. Castiel pockets the phone he’s been trying to crush with his hands and walks over to the table.

“Hey there, Castiel,” Sam says, still smiling widely. Castiel tries to match the smile, but knows it looks more like a mocking smirk. The other man sitting at the table narrows his eyes at him as a response.

“Hey, Sam,” he says, “and hello…?”

“Oh! Yes, this is Dean,” Sam says, gesturing towards the man, “Dean Winchester. My brother.”

A few things happen at once: First, Castiel realizes who he’s been in yoga class with — everyone knows the Winchester brothers, who inherited a lousy bankrupt-ready company from their father upon his death and turned it into a goldmine. They were known as an innovative, but old-school bunch, who were a common sight at conservative events and socialite parties.

Castiel _never_ would have thought a person like Sam would be into that kind of a life.

Second, and it’s clear as day, Sam is scouting them for a future reference. They need a party planner in the future. He’s here to see if they’re worth anything.

_Fuck_.

Third, and the weirdest of all, is that when he grabs Dean’s hand to shake it as an introduction, their eyes meet and Castiel’s stomach feels like he was just trying to sit on a chair and fell on the floor instead. Even in the dimness of the club, Dean’s eyes are as green as the pineapple mint Castiel uses in his mint infusion. The rest of his features don’t pale in comparison — there’s a sort of beauty in him that Castiel has rarely seen.

Lastly: James probably broke their friendship up _again_ just now, and he should deal with that instead of— well, instead of admiring anyone’s features.

“Hey, Castiel,” he eventually says, and his voice is on the right side of intriguing, “nice to meet you. Uh, Sam told me about you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” he replies, “Sam told me nothing. I didn’t even realize he was a Winchester before now.”

“Wow. Really, Sammy?”

Sam works his jaw and raises his eyebrows. The internal conflict is palpable.

“Yeah. Maybe I want to meet people outside of being a Winchester.”

Castiel’s so involved in the start of the conversation he’s sitting before he notices. Rude.

“This isn’t,” Dean starts, and lowers his voice then, “this isn’t the time or the place to have this conversation.”

“Is everything alright?” Castiel asks. He leans his elbows against the table to rest his head on his palms. Dean is drawn in by the movement, following it with his gaze. Castiel has never before felt stage fright with his fingers.

“Pay it no mind,” Sam says, “this isn’t anything you need to worry about.”

“Generally, this would be,” he admits, “since you are my customers tonight. That being said, I really should get backstage. It’s time to perform soon and I know a colleague or two who wouldn’t love it if I weren’t there to prepare.”

“Of course, go ahead,” Sam says. “Uh, see you after the performance?”

Castiel lets himself take one more look at Dean. God, the man is stunning.

“Yes, see you then. Hope you have a good time.”

 

Everyone backstage are pretty much ready to go. They exchange a couple of nervous sentences, wish each other good luck and jump on stage. In all honesty, Castiel can’t even remember their first song — it could have been smooth jazz for all he knows. He mans the tambourine and sings background vocals for Meg, who’s had a couple more drinks than him, but still sings better than many would sober.

In the blinking lights, with the bass and drums traversing through his veins and setting his heartbeat on a new rate, he remembers James’ message again. Sam and Dean almost had him distracted for a moment, but now they’re over at a table he can hardly see from here.

What the fuck did James mean by not being sure he can do this?

Sure, he could ask for an explanation, but he can already see himself deflecting the conversation. He would see James blaming him for things that weren’t his fault, and him blaming himself for not generally being better. The overwhelming feeling of not being good enough is never going to let him go, no matter how many gigs he’s played or how many times he tries to act like Jane.

He’s defeated. Absolutely, utterly defeated.

Somehow, that transforms into energy on stage. After the first song, they take front and center with Kevin — they’re rusty on their _Numb Encore_ performance, having done it exactly once in rehearsal, but since Kevin is a wizard with words he can turn them around to sound like they both know what they’re doing. Castiel joins in on his cue, trying to get some feeling for the lyrics, and somewhat nailing it, too — it’s not like he’s completely unable to relate to words regarding failing expectations and getting tired of trying to please. He knows that’s how anyone would tell him to go around these subjects, too. His therapist, although still ignorant about Castiel’s past, knows about his insecurities and feelings of worthlessness, he’s told him plenty of times that he shouldn’t try to please anyone, and that the right people would find him if he stayed true to himself.

Frankly, it sounds like the kind of nonsense Castiel couldn’t agree with. He has always wanted to please people, to be considered good enough, and he’s always been ready to make sacrifices.

Still, the lyrics, as he sings them, emanate bitter, nagging, and _true_.

Castiel’s no stranger to expressing and projecting his emotions in his work — whether it’s blending tea or singing on stage. There’s a thick mass of dark, anxious, unsettling depression under his ribs and he wants to try disentangling that next. Even though they were hesitant about adding any big, heartfelt songs in a bachelor party set that should generally just be disco feel-good music, nobody objects when he asks the band to revisit the _Faded_ arrangement they had once. He leaves the tambourine and pulls the thus-far neglected keyboard table closer to the mic stand he’s next to, exhales, and chooses an electronic, eerie-sounding string sample that he distorts with the mixer. It’s a good minute of plain string intro, and then, he straightens up and sings.

Not going to lie, _Faded_ has found its way into his heart, no matter how clichéd he initially thought it was. Even though it was released years after James left, it always reminded him of their breakup, and since the clenching feeling in his chest is most likely caused by _you never should have done that_ and _I’m not sure if I can do this_ , it’s a safe song to choose. Chuck, the club’s lighting engineer, bathes the stage with beams of blue, stationary light, and it lets him delve deeper into the feeling of the song. During the first chorus, Balthazar’s drums come in, and Castiel kicks the looper into a new gear, making his voice echo breathlessly behind the strings.

It’s two verses into the song when he realizes the lyrics are also an apt description of how he thought he felt with Bart. It’s two verses into the song when he realizes he hasn’t thought of Bart during the song at _all_.

 

 

*

They finish their set with _Jerusalem_ , to ease up the tension built by some of the deeper parts of the night. It’s a hard song to sing, and ends up with Kevin strumming the guitar and Castiel trying to cram in the words without laughing, and the speed picking up every ten seconds.

It’s a good finish.

Castiel feels both embarrassed and proud of himself as he returns backstage. Eileen immediately comes to him for a hug, to which the rest of the group add on and form a weird hug-ball.

“We good?” someone, possibly Kevin, asks from behind Castiel.

“I need a drink,” Meg says, and huffs out a laugh as she unwraps herself. “Any of you want anything?”

“Yes, please,” Balthazar says, also letting go. “And make it sharp.”

“Will do,” Meg says with a half-assed salute and leaves the room. After Kevin leaves, Eileen pulls herself out to arms’ length and locks eyes with Castiel.

_You alright?_ She asks, the movement of her hands both soft and almost frantic. It makes Castiel feel warm, and he nods.

“Thanks for asking,” he whispers. Eileen scrutinizes him, but then lets go.

It doesn’t take long for Meg to return with the drinks and they share a lovely, grounding moment backstage. They talk upcoming graduation parties, and Castiel also wants to tell them about Sam Winchester, but decides not to — no need to make them feel bad if this wasn’t enough for them to get picked for a party in Winchester league.

 

To keep himself from thinking about James’ message for a minute longer, he decides to head back into the side for the public and speak with Sam. They’ve moved to sit comfortably in a booth, drinking some high-end-looking beer and laughing heartily at something. It’s funny to see how fast they patched their almost-disagreement from earlier. Castiel wishes he forgave so easily, too, and could move fluidly past hurtful things.

“Castiel,” Sam breathes out, instantly nervous, “please, please have a seat.”

He frowns, but obeys. Sam slides a bottle of beer across the table with a questioning expression. “Want one? They’re imported, really good.”

Castiel nods, still frowning deeply, and twists the bottle open. He meets Dean’s eyes across the table and almost chokes on his first swig — there’s nothing but sheer admiration on Dean’s face. What? Why?

Sam clears his throat. “So, uh. We were just talking about you.”

“Hm?” Castiel shakes himself free from the first thoroughly _appreciating_ gaze he’s encountered in forever. “Talking about me?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, is his voice lower? “Look, we want to cut you a deal.”

“Since you’re the boss of your company,” Sam adds.

“Of course, you can consult your employees on this,” Dean says. “I, for one, know that you should always consult your colleagues. I was about to make a bad deal the other week, but-”

“Dean, he doesn’t care,” Sam hisses, and turns back to Castiel with a smile. “Okay. So, you know the company we work with, right?”

“Well, obviously he does, since he knows who we are now.”

“Thanks for that input, asshat. Anyway, Castiel. Sorry about this. I know we’re not exactly being professional here.”

“Well, it’s past midnight so I’d be troubled if you were,” he hums, taking another swig of the beer. It tastes like a mediocre domestic and whatever it costs, it’s too much. Shit’s basically water.

“So anyway. We want to offer your company a business deal. I mean — I know we should’ve booked you earlier, since it’s May already, but are you still free for the 4th of July?” Sam asks. He’s ripping the label off and into tiny shreds, so this must be nerve-wracking for him.

Castiel opens the calendar on his phone, scrolling to July. There’s a note from Kevin that says “Fourth of July. Use sparingly.” He raises his eyebrows and huffs.

“Seems like we’re free for now.”

“Wow, great,” Sam says, and tries to find the courage to go on. There’s something he’s not telling, and Castiel can’t figure out what it is. Yes, let’s make a deal, but…? But be less dramatic on stage?

“I also know that it’s a rare occasion when you actually perform,” Dean says, “but here’s the deal. The condition for us to pick you is that you do so. We’re not talking about you as a collective...”

“Although the whole collective is welcome,” Sam adds quickly, “it’s just...”

“You have to be singing,” Dean deadpans. When he realizes how demanding he just sounded, he adds in a smile that’s absolutely charming.

“What?” Castiel asks. He shakes his head, squints, really tries to concentrate on what’s at stake here.

“Okay. Let me explain. You’re amazing. You’re heartbreaking, you’re controversial, you’re an uncommon sight. We want that at our party,” Sam says.

“There’s a lot of older people in our affiliates,” Dean adds, “and we need to have some fresh winds blowing through their pants, if you know what I mean.”

“Uh…”

“Dean, please, be normal,” Sam pleads. “Castiel, we need something that’s not conservative, for once. We’re gonna get some nay-saying about this, but we really want to show what a new generation looks like. You’re a charismatic performer, unconventional, and exactly what we need.”

“As long as my friends are welcome on stage as well, I don’t mind your preferences,” Castiel states, “although I find it odd that you’d choose those adjectives to describe me.”

“You don’t see yourself that way?” Sam asks.

“Well, no, but I will let you have that image if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“A true salesman. So is that a yes?”

“That is an unofficial ‘yes, I’ll keep the date free until we can discuss terms and payment somewhere less crowded next week’,” Castiel says. He keeps his eyes on Sam, but feels Dean looking at him. He feels uncomfortable — no, that’s not it. He feels flattered, if a bit confused by the attention he’s getting from the man. He has no clue what kind of attention this is. Is it genuine interest? Is he faking it for some reason? Or is it a form of _flirtation_?

“That’s all we ask,” Dean says, and Castiel forces their eyes to meet again. Dean swallows.

“Great. Uh, Sam has this number already, but here’s the store number,” Castiel says then, picks up a pencil and a napkin to scribble it  on. Dean scribbles his own on another one and hands it over.

“I’m really glad. Hey, do you want to come to yoga on Monday? There’s a couple people coming, but it should be a simple time.”

“Uh, I’d rather take it easy at the beginning of the week. I’ve not been drinking today, but I really have things to catch up with at home. Enough for tomorrow, and the day after, I guess.”

Mostly, it’s jogging and Jane and some apricots, but the Winchesters don’t need to know that.

“Of course. I’ll let you know when I’m there alone, then,” Sam says and offers a hand. “I look forward to our cooperation.”

He shakes hands with the both of them, feeling Dean’s intense gaze on his back as he walks away.


	7. The Planner

Everyone’s instantly on board with the idea of a 4th of July Winchester, Inc., party. Sam promises Castiel to force an opening for next Tuesday, since finding an open slot in any day is nearly impossible for the Winchesters. Castiel asks both Meg and Balthazar to join him for the meeting, and briefs them of the conversation at the club. While Balthazar reprimands him for not telling his friends about there being a Winchester talent scout attack, Meg says she’s never doubted Castiel’s charisma. They’re happy to see where this road leads, even though they’d never get further than the first meeting.

Castiel dreams of Bartholomew on Sunday night.

Okay, talking about it being a dream is a bit of a reach, but still — it’s ignited by seeing the man through his subconscious, then continued in a half-asleep state where he has no control over his thoughts, but the advancement of events is too logical.

He steps in through the front door and Bart is there, hands on his hips, but he looks menacing, not angry. He never looks angry. He has the demeanor of a person who can be demanding, but to Castiel, he also shows his soft side.

But now he really is angry.

“I was worried about you,” his mouth says, but his eyes say _I am disappointed in you._

Castiel frowns while he turns to close the door behind him. He’s not sure if he should let Bart know he’s confused, because that would bother him, and Castiel doesn’t want that.

“I’m sorry. I ended up visiting the library.”

“Oh, did you find something?”

Castiel takes off his shoes and walks to the living room, Bart following suit. They sit down on the couch and Castiel digs up two books from his army green bag.

“I thought I’d give these a go. I heard they’re worth the trouble.”

Bart takes one of the books in his hands and flips it over. “Oh, yeah. I read this when it came out.”

There’s a tone to his voice that implies that makes him a better person. Castiel agrees with that tone.

“It’s complete shit,” he proceeds, “I wouldn’t waste time if I were you. If you want my recommendations, I’ll gladly give them to you.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, taking the book from his boyfriend, “I think I’ll manage. I am capable of making my own decision about how good it is.”

“Wow, did I say you weren’t? I don’t think I did.”

Castiel nods. “You didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Bart smirks at him, but it’s affectionate. “Hey, loosen up.”

The atmosphere still suggests he should walk on eggshells, but he tries to follow Bart’s advice.

“I just wished you’d told me you were going to the library. I would’ve liked to come with you. That is, unless my taste is too dull for a smart guy like you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Castiel says hastily, “it was kind of a spontaneous decision. I was buying some cauliflower, and just saw the library on my way back.”

“Sure,” Bart says, getting up, “I think I should make us some dinner.”

 

There’s something about the whole scene that doesn’t sit right with Castiel as he goes about his morning routines on Monday. He can’t put his finger on it, and not even a jog by the beach can help with that. He remembers the mood really well, but it’s like something is completely missing. He stops for a moment to catch his breath and idly stares at the ocean. It’s right there, on the edge of his consciousness. Why is his memory failing him now?

When he’s back home and planning the day ahead, he feels his phone buzz where it’s been neglected in his pocket. A sense of dread fills him immediately — he’s completely been avoiding his phone since Saturday, and probably gotten tons of hate messages from James. He opens WhatsApp to see the new message actually is from James, but it’s not the first one since the “I don’t know if I can do this” one. A sense of shame surrounds his chest.

The time span from that message to the next is three minutes. So if he’d checked his phone a couple of moments later, he would never have gotten so heartbroken in the first place. Damn it. So Castiel’s both dramatic and thick in the head. The guilt devours him.

_J: Okay that sounded worse than I meant it to I am sorry_

_J: Please read these messages at the same time, because I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to make up drama_

_J: I thought I would be fine with just getting back in touch with you, but now that you told me what you’ve gone through… I don’t know if I’ll be fine without meeting you eventually_

_J: Like, I can deal with however much time you need, pal_

_J: But I want to meet you eventually_

_J: And I don’t want to make this sound like a demand or anything because I want you to feel good and safe with me, you know?_

_J: I just_

_J: Look you don’t even have to say yes to this. I just want you to know that I would love for us to meet. I don’t care if it takes a year, or eight, or eighty. So if you just know this, it’s enough. Just… Think about it, okay?_

_J: Steve?_

Then, there’s the message sent just now.

_J: Hi, just checking in. I need to quit my job (I won’t quit my job). I miss you, but I won’t send you further messages before you answer. Take your time._

Castiel swallows back the tears that are inevitably coming, and answers the message.

**S: So, maybe I did read your first message and thought exactly what you said I shouldn’t. I’m sorry, I**

He presses send and thinks hard on this. How far would he be willing to go with his thoughts here? Since he’s already decided to be honest with James, he goes with the truth — even if it’s unpleasant.

**S: I’m used to expecting the worst, and with my previous relationship, it did get a little worse. It’s not like it was a bad relationship by any standard, but I just had to be on my toes a little. Usually it was for a good cause, e.g. this situation with you now.**

**S: I’ll understand if you say you don’t want to do this, because I can’t promise you a meeting any time soon.**

_J: Okay, on your toes?_

_J: Didn’t you like… communicate openly?_

**S: Of course, but Bart used to say we understood each other without the need for excessive words. Please don’t think badly of him, he’s not a bad person.**

_J: If you say so._

_J: Steve, can I ask you something? I know it’s kind of weird, and it’s bordering on Things We Don’t Talk About, but I don’t wanna be Bart about my thoughts towards you_

Castiel huffs out a laugh and finishes his tea. He feels restless and he knows what might help — yoga. Would Sam still be willing to take him in? Should he ask?

**S: Sure, go ahead.**

_J: What do you take our relationship to be?_

_J: Okay, let me rephrase that._

_J: Did you even notice you used the term “previous relationship”? Was this a thing you did on purpose or a Freudian slip?_

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh, that’s awkward. Castiel feels a full body blush spread through his veins. That was indeed an accident, but saying it certainly made it sound like there’s a presumption that James would be his current relationship. Now, how to treat this? If James had done it he would’ve possibly exaggerated, made it a joke and smoothly slid into something more comfortable afterwards. Well, two can play that game.

**S: Oh, you caught me. I am secretly harboring feelings for you. I don’t want to blame this on Freud, either. I just want to get back together with you like SO BAD James you have no idea. I dream of your well-formed pecs every day and wish I could just … I don’t know, lick lemon custard off them.**

Castiel notices how the ring starts pulsating painfully fast. The situation is so weird, awkward, sudden, and out-of-place it’s overwhelming.

_J: Damn it, you_ almost _got me._

_J: Damn you, Steve._

_J: Damn you_

There’s one damn you too many, Castiel notes absently. He distracts himself by sending Sam a quick message. It’s almost like he’s in control of the situation. He recalls feeling like that sometimes during their college-time conversations — it didn’t matter how suggestive the themes got, Castiel was firmly in control if the result was to throw James off his balance for a while. It was harmless, and heated, and private.

_J: So yeah, I guess it’s easy to slip back into old habits. For the record, it was presumptuous of me to think you meant anything by “relationship” in the first place_

_J: I mean, we’re still fresh off the bat right_

**S: True. How dare you be that presumptuous. Don’t take me for granted, James.**

_J: I would never._

**S: Good. Now, I just got invited to this amazing party. I will return later. Have a nice day, Mr. Presumpt.**

_J: REally?_

**S: (thumbsup emoji)**

 

*

Instead of partying, Castiel heads to the gym, and he feels a bit lost in his feelings when he enters the yoga room. Sam immediately greets him, and he’s also met by five other people he’s never seen before. All of them seem harmless at first glance, so he relaxes into it as soon as he’s on the yoga mat, palms up, on his back. This time, his breathing falls into a natural rhythm through his diaphragm on its own. He almost wants to tell Sam this, but that could make things awkward for the other people in the room.

Sam guides them through a routine that’s mostly static poses. What comes as a surprise to Castiel, though, is that they really take their toll on his muscles. Even though he feels they’re hardly doing anything, he ends up shaky in all of his body and sweating like he’d never run in his life. When they finally finish and Sam guides them through some final thoughts about relaxation, Castiel feels it for the first time.

His mind is empty.

Of course it’s not empty, there’s blood running through his veins and his body feels both heavy and refreshed at the same time. The moment passes in less than a minute, but it’s magnificent.

Is this what yoga is supposed to feel like? Or is this what he used to feel like before he was always anxious and sad?

After Sam dismisses the class and the people leave, he beckons Castiel closer.

“How are you feeling?”

“I- I’m surprisingly well,” he answers, “Confused by the lack of stress.”

“Oh, drink water. That helps with the shaking… Eventually.” Sam passes him a bottle of water and nods towards the back door. “Want to head outside? I don’t want to talk business with you, but I’d like to talk to you as a friend.”

“Sure,” Castiel answers and follows Sam to the patio. They take a seat on the edge of it and for a moment, just admire the sunny day. Castiel vaguely remembers the sunflower seeds he still has in his bag. He should plant them immediately — after May, it’s too late.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Castiel closes his eyes and the sun caresses his skin wherever it can reach — he’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but his hands and cheeks get comfortably warm quickly. He can’t believe he let spring pass him by. He loves the spring; loves the sound of ice creaking and melting in the sun, loves icicles falling and shattering on concrete, and he loves making streams in the sand, letting melting snow traverse towards the ocean.

“So,” Sam starts hesitantly, “I need to apologize.”

Castiel opens his eyes, and it takes a while for him to get used to the brightness. He groans at the pain in his eyes and turns his back to the sun.

“What for?”

“For… Assuming. I invited you here last time and bombarded you with questions about your past, even though it’s none of my business.”

“I wouldn’t call that bombarding. You asked, and offered to listen if I wanted to talk.”

“And then I shared a story about a dead girlfriend, putting you in a tough spot.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, it wasn’t uncomfortable. I’ve never been good with small talk anyway. Besides, you were trying to help me out.”

“I was. That was genuine. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take you under my wing like a lame duck or anything like that…”

“Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything about your work, but I’d like to know a bit about that argument you had with Dean. I don’t need the specifics, but it just caught my attention when you told me you want to be regarded as something else than a Winchester.”

Sam sighs heavily, fixing his gaze into the distance for a while.

“Well, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I have a good family and Dean — he’s my brother, and I wouldn’t even be around without him. He let me have a childhood that my hard-working dad was too busy to provide. But still, sometimes I’d like to do things that are just- just me, you know? That I wouldn’t be seen as the younger Winchester, but as this random guy who does yoga for a living.”

“Would you do yoga if you got to decide?” Castiel asks. He’s adamant about keeping this strictly on Sam — he doesn’t want tidbits about how wonderful Dean is. He’s still haunted by those eyes anyway.

“I don’t know. The thing is, I don’t get to think about these things. The second I do, something comes up at work. For now, I’m completely tied to it. Besides, the second I think about changing the path I’m on, I feel like a traitorous brother.”

“I can relate,” Castiel hums and, after taking a sip of his tea, leans backwards to lie down on the patio. He could fall asleep right here.

“Are you not satisfied at your work? I thought everything was good in there.”

“Oh, yes, work’s fine. I like it, and I’m proud of what I’ve built. It’s the inability to think about things. I’ve yet to learn to… Think about things. I’ve always wanted to take care of people, and sometimes that means putting your own needs second.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I can direct my employees fine, but I try to make sure everyone’s comfortable.”

Sam nods, huffing out a laugh. “A people pleaser, then. I get it.”

“Not really even that. I just think happy employees equal happy working conditions — for me, as well.”

“If someone was unable to work, and you’d have to either call someone else on short notice or go do the shift yourself, which would you do?”

“Well, I do own the place, Sam. I would go myself, it’s both my pleasure and obligation.”

“If a customer leaves angry because of something that you did, how long would you think about that?”

“Is there someone who wouldn’t think about it? I’d try to make it so that they’d return, and have a better experience. It’s good press. Sam, I know what you’re getting at, but these are all logical things. I’m not a people pleaser.”

“In your friendships, do you say no if you don’t want to participate in an activity?”

“Besides my time off recently, there rarely are things I don’t want to participate in. My friends and I are kindred spirits. We do like the same things.”

A memory from somewhere far away surfaces — of Castiel’s childhood friend who was always willing to hang out with him, because he always said yes to whatever shenanigans they were up to. It got Castiel in trouble at times, but he was so happy to belong somewhere.

He sighs, and remains quiet.

“For a non-people-pleaser, you sure have a lot of excuses,” Sam states. Castiel knows he’s right.

“But those are all little things, and friends help each other out. Who doesn’t want to be liked?”

“The thing is, Castiel,” Sam says, lowering his gaze to meet his eyes, “the right people like you anyway.”

*

On Tuesday morning, Castiel meets his friends in the lobby of Winchester, Inc. Dean sent the details of their meeting place just before ten, apologizing for the lack of heads-up, but it didn’t matter — they had been ready to leave on short notice. Initially, they’d planned to walk, but a sudden rain flushed that plan down the drain. After a short argument about Castiel not being ready to take the monorail, they took a cab.

He feels nervous about Sam. Even after their talk yesterday, with both of them opening up a bit more than they initially meant to, they’d meet as potential business partners today. He’s also nervous about meeting Dean again. Would he still feel as baffled by him when they’re both sober? It could be that Dean was staring at him because he’d been too intoxicated to focus his eyes properly.

As they take seats in the cozy meeting room that’s equipped with a fake fireplace, he’s pretty sure he won’t be swayed again. Boy, is he wrong.

Dean comes in with a briefcase in hand, and Castiel barely notices Sam coming after him. He abruptly stands up to shake hands with both of them, and most likely imagines Dean holding on a while longer than absolutely necessary.

“Alright, nice of you to make it,” he says with a hint of a smile. Balthazar gives both Dean and Castiel a judgemental look but says nothing, for which Castiel is immensely grateful.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he replies, meeting Dean’s eyes that are every bit as interesting as before. They’re not scary, though — just intense. He looks at Castiel like he has something important to say even when he’s saying nothing. He has to admit he likes the idea.

“So, we talked briefly with Castiel on Saturday,” Sam starts, “but I haven’t met you two. I’m Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean. We’re two thirds of the management of Winchester, Inc., and have the third one’s permission to represent the company with you today.”

“As you established already, I’m Castiel Novak,” Castiel says, and feels his voice get shaky as he speaks. He wants to go back home as quickly as possible — through the park? He pictures the park and briefly thinks about the possible places to drop a sunflower seed or two in. Okay, he can do that later. Now it’s time to sound smart and confident. “These are my friends and colleagues, Meg Masters and Balthazar Dupont.”

“Pleasure,” Balthazar says and scrutinizes Dean as they shake hands. Then both of the Winchesters take a seat across them on recliners similar to what they’re sitting on.

“The third member of our management is Fergus Crowley,” Sam says, “he sends his best regards and says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it today.”

Something in Sam’s expression says that Crowley probably hasn’t sent these words. No matter, really. It’s a good thing there’s just two almost-strangers in the room today.

“Alright, would you like something? Coffee? Tea?” Sam offers and shrinks back a little. “Although I’m pretty sure I can’t offer anything as good as you offer in your store.”

“Probably not,” Balthazar says. What’s with the attitude? Meg seems to be wondering the same and playfully — or less playfully — punches Balthazar in the knee.

“Next one’s on your balls, if you can’t behave,” she states and offers the Winchesters the best smile she can with her limited happiness capability. “Sorry. We’re professional, I swear.”

“I wish you weren’t,” Dean says, and leans in. To Castiel, the gesture is intimate, even though there’s still a good six feet between them. “We’re looking for people who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Dean, language,” Sam says.

“Unlike my bitch brother here. That stick’s bigger than I’ve seen in ages.”

“No, I just like a level of professionalism to my actions, thank you very much.”

Castiel’s kind of pleased to realize they are exactly the same people they were back at the club. It makes it easier for him to relax, knowing their brotherly banter wasn’t fully caused by alcohol.

“Well, we don’t have sticks in any holes,” Balthazar says, concentrating on his fingernails that seem more interesting than eye contact with the biggest employee of the year, “Castiel here is more the type that puts sticks in-”

“That’s enough, thank you,” Castiel says, trying to make his voice sound dominant, “please shut up.” He turns to the Winchesters. “I swear, we’re better.”

“No, no. It’s refreshing,” Dean says, leaning back. There’s something that’s bothering him, but he hides his frown fast. Castiel starts rolling his ring around on his finger for distraction. He can feel James’ heartbeat against his skin. It’s almost in sync with his.“Still, let me just,” Castiel says then, turning his attention fully on Balthazar, “if you’re planning to act like this for much longer, I’d really prefer if you’d wait for us outside.”

Balthazar shrugs, but then nods. “Alright.”

This is a start more rocky than Castiel would’ve liked, but it’ll have to do for now. He turns back to the Winchesters.

“Anyway,” Dean says, following the movement of Castiel’s fingers still spinning the ring. He seems a bit lost in thought. It’s oddly endearing — these young men are here, in charge of millions of dollars, making big decisions every day, yet still in company their own age they seem unprofessional. Not in a bad way, though; it humanizes them. “As we told Castiel, we’re looking for an ensemble that’s real.”

Balthazar opens his mouth to say something, but Castiel squints at him so he closes it again. He doesn’t need to be a mind reader to understand something snarky was about to come out just now.

“We’re a big company and we’d have the money to get anyone, really,” Dean proceeds, “but we want to support local. Sam has been doing the scouting for me so far, and luckily you happened to be out on a job on one of my rare free nights. We already told Castiel our requirements for the contract.”

“Yes, you want me to be the main performer.”

Meg nods. “Yes, Castiel told us about this. No wonder. His game is really strong whenever the circumstances are right.”

“We all have our muse,” Castiel says with a grim smile. “Mine happens to be internal conflict.”

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Sam says, and obviously bites his tongue before continuing. His yoga and professional selves are about to blend, so he decides to say nothing instead.

“No, I’ll make do. So, you want me to be your main act, and my people on the stage with me, which was my demand for this. Besides that, what are you looking for?”

“It’s hard to put into words. We appreciate our affiliates and the million dollar deals they’ve established with us. That being said, sometimes it’s suffocating to see just how conservative they can be. We don’t want to shock them, or make them angry, but since this is a party we’re holding, we want to try to merge our generation to theirs, so to speak.”

Sam chooses his words carefully to avoid raising suspicions of their loyalty towards the people they work with.

“I disagree,” Dean says then, turning his frame towards Sam a bit. “I think we should shock them. I mean, of course there shouldn’t be any, like, violence or gore or porn on stage, but it can be… A bit cheeky. Flirty, even.”

“Well you’ve come to the right place,” Balthazar laughs, but there’s no mockery in his tone anymore — he’s genuinely amused. “Castiel is the epitome of flirt.”

“Shut it, Baz,” Castiel sighs.

“And it’s not particularly you who have to be flirty,” Sam adds hastily, “it’s the songs that can be. You know, if you could come up with a setlist that’s a bit daring, and has that summer fling feel, that would be amazing.”

“Of course, there needs to be the National Anthem, too,” Dean says. “Can be played with a bit, though. Many do different interpretations of it.”

Castiel nods. “Seems like something we could pull off… So far. Will you be using all of our services? Do you want us to arrange catering services, bartenders, DJ’s, the whole ordeal?”

“Yes, please,” Sam says. “We’ll compensate for your time, especially when we’re putting you into a tight schedule here.”

“Definitely,” Dean confirms. “We were looking into some of your previous work and scouting for how much people usually pay for services such as this. I think we can negotiate a price that satisfies all of us.”

“I have no doubt,” Castiel says. “So, a performance, catering, DJ — Meg, that’s probably you again — drinks, I guess fireworks, too? Also, do you have a venue or would you like for us to decide?”

“No, we’ll leave it to you. But yeah, fireworks would be great. You can hire whoever you see fit to take care of external services, and we’ll happily pay whatever they want.”

“We could arrange you a performer that’s so much better, though,” Castiel sighs, “why do you want to stick with me?”

Dean and Sam glance at each other, after which Sam exhales with a groan. “Like I said, we want to support local. But there’s something about you that’s exactly what we’ve been looking for.”

“Anyone can get a big name to a show,” Dean adds, “we want it to be you.”

Castiel nods. “I guess I can take it. From me, it’s a yes. What do you say, friends?”

“I mean, sure,” Meg says, “if we can negotiate that price.”

 

 

*

Castiel breathes in the fresh, rain-scented air of the park and exhales with a roll of his shoulders. He places a couple of sunflower seeds in whatever cracks he finds on the ground and hums to himself. He’s feeling at ease for now, but things are moving a bit too fast for his liking.

It didn’t take long for the image to start forming in Castiel’s head. He was adamant about making it a 4th of July cruise, and a big one at that — with a total headcount of 300, a small boat wouldn’t be enough. Balthazar set off searching for a cruise ship for them immediately, and Meg wanted to get the bartender, because she’d have to pull all her strings to score a good one in such a short timeframe. They let Castiel head home for the day, since he probably had a lot on his mind, and they were both right and wrong about that.

For some reason, Castiel isn’t bothered by this. He knows he needs to get home as soon as possible and do nothing for the remainder of the day, but the thought of a giant party that is his responsibility makes him happy. He can get back to doing what he knows best, and probably sink his teeth into the task deep enough for him to forget anything had ever been wrong.

Then, there’s Dean Winchester. As Castiel lets his mind wander to him, his stomach does that weird falling-flip again. It seems an awful lot like attraction, but there’s something weird in it — it’s not only that Castiel usually requires actually knowing the person before falling for them, but also that however much he wants to avoid thinking about a certain subject, he can’t completely avoid it.

It’s James.

He feels so controversial about his old new friend. A part of him is still angry at him for leaving in the first place, and he’s really trying not to rekindle any old flames because he’s still hurt over Bartholomew and would probably take him back in a heartbeat, given the chance—

But there it is again. Castiel squints against the sun, trying to both dig deeper into his thoughts and distract himself. This isn’t going to work. He needs to have a conversation with someone about Bartholomew, and since James already knows something, he might want to tell him more… But that feels wrong, because if he were to figure out Castiel no longer wanted Bart, it would probably be James he would run after next.

Not that he should be running after anyone. More than anything, he wants to get his life back together. Some more yoga could help with that.

 

The next day is relapse day, which Castiel uses to groan alone around the apartment, push some sunflower seeds into the already full flower pots on his balcony, and watch Jane’s second  season all the way to the mid-season finale. He eats absolutely no orange fruits. Eileen is still bringing him a bag of food each week, sometimes leaving it at the Tea Party as well. She knows how overwhelming grocery stores can get, and while he secretly wants to make another shopping trip with James for support, it’s still just a thought. They also hold their first phone meeting with a board member from Winchester, Inc.; a man called Zachariah Lashley. He gives the cruise idea a hesitant thumbs-up, promising to ask the Winchesters for final approval. Dean sends a message to their work cell later, stating that he’s sorry he couldn’t attend and that they’d get to the cruise option later.

It’s on this relapse day, surprisingly, that Castiel sits down on his balcony floor and sighs.

**S: I want to talk to you about Bartholomew. For starters, I want you to know I know absolutely nothing about where this conversation will lead, but I want to talk to you about how things were with him and I want you to listen.**

_J: Okay…?_

_J: Where is this coming from?_

_J: Is this reference for future? Do I need to make notes? Are you gonna tell me how well he treated you and how I can never match up?_

_J: I’m sorry. Go on, I’m having a lazy day and while I should be using it to win over someone, I’m using it to listen to my dearest friend instead._

Castiel blushes at the endearment, letting himself bathe in the feeling for a moment. Then, he sets to thinking. He still remembers his memory-dream including library books, and the weird feeling of something being off. Then, he explains the whole situation to James, who listens without saying anything, never going offline.

**S: Alright, I tried to tell this as blatantly and neutrally as possible. I want you to look at this situation neutrally, too, and tell me what you make of it.**

_J: I’d need to hear more scenes to be able to do that, but let’s see what I’ve got_

_J: Because I’m not a mental health professional nor an armchair psychologist, I want you to heed my disclaimer: This is just my gut feeling_

_J: Did he ever give you a choice?_

Castiel squints. He doesn’t get the frame of reference here, and he feels bad already. He told James earlier that Bart isn’t a bad person, and he fears James will take the conversation there now.

**S: What do you mean?**

_J: I mean, did he ever give you a choice? Were you equal?_

_J: Just thinking, because he got that weird over a library visit you did without consulting him._

**S: Oh, yeah. That makes sense. I would say yes, we were equal. He put up with my nonsense ideas, although we did have different interests at times.**

_J: “Put up” though? Why do you think it’s putting up?_

**S: Well, isn’t it? Not all couples can be interested in same things. There’s some putting up with things in every relationship.**

_J: Steve…_

**S: What?**

**S: You can’t claim I’m wrong.**

_J: No, but if I was head over heels over someone, “putting up” is not the first phrase that would come to my mind. Either I’d join them in whatever’s so important to them, or I’d know to step back and enjoy looking at them from afar._

**S: This is not a competition, James. You don’t need to prove how much better of a person you are.**

_J: Hey, that wasn’t my intention. My intention was to point out that if you believe that doing stuff your significant other likes is “putting up” with some kind of “nonsense”, then… I just want you to see another side to that._

**S: Yes, I know.**

_J: Do you, though?_

_J: Please don’t get angry at me, I’m just curious beyond my own good._

_J: Did he literally say he was putting up with your stuff?_

**S: No, not quite. He made his opinion known in other ways. It was… He usually had more important things to attend to, but could hesitantly agree on going with me if it was THAT important to me. I… I guess that’s a no-go for you, too?**

_J: I shouldn’t say anything anymore._

**S: Please do. I don’t know what to do if I can’t talk about these things with you.**

_J: Okay, then you gotta just deal with my commentary. Is that OK?_

**S: Yes.**

_J: I think Bartholomew is absolutely bullshit. I hate the guy for making you feel you’re less important than whatever other things he had or “had”._

Castiel lets the phone fall onto the floor of the balcony and focuses on some birds flying by. His thoughts are on rapid movement, and he tries to stay loyal to the thought of Bartholomew as a perfect man; but for the first time ever, someone else is judging him. If he had been as committed to Castiel as Castiel was to him, he would’ve shown interest in things Castiel liked and joined him on his hobbies, right? Castiel himself couldn’t even think about not supporting Bart and letting him know he was loved and his own things were important.

He feels nauseated to even consider this line of thought, so he quickly guides the conversation with James elsewhere. He doesn’t have the strength to keep talking about his _former relationship._

*

As May turns to June, Castiel swears days pass in a blink of an eye. He doesn’t participate in the graduation parties, promising to take care of the store in the meantime. Tea Party has started to become a safe place for him again; he can deal with strangers, as long as they’re behaving nicely, and he’s the one who knows more of the product. Every now and then, some people roll in and pretend to know more about tea leaf shapes or essential oils, and Castiel has to gently guide these people to either experiment beyond their knowledge, or head elsewhere.

Besides tending the store, Castiel spends time looking into details for the party.

Luckily, Meg has already found a bartender for them. Her name is Ruby, and she’s at the top of her game, just moved back from Chicago. She’d immediately said she could find assistants to work with her, so that part of the night is already sorted out. Meg is uncertain about whether they should let Ruby take care of ordering the drinks, too, so that’s still up for them to decide. Getting drinks out of the way meant they could focus on catering next. Castiel and Meg both scheduled appointments for tasting in different places, choosing the best ratings in the city. Since the Winchesters wanted to support local when choosing their party planner, they wanted to do the same with everyone they hired.

Castiel’s appointment is on Friday, and after his morning run he heads to the store for a couple of hours. He’s with Kevin, who’s writing down all kinds of important and less important details on post-it notes. Castiel makes a Daily Blend out of persimmon leaves, ginger and pine needles. He puts essential pine oil drops on the diffuser and sighs.

“How have you been?” Kevin asks. They’re the first words he’s said to Castiel, and until now he’d been pretty sure the guy hadn’t even been paying attention to him.

“Uh, fine, thanks!” he answers and wipes the residual oil on his pants. Classy. “I’ve got to admit things are moving fast, but so far I haven’t had trouble besides the occasional relapse days that I use to stay indoors and binge some TV shows.”

“About that,” Kevin says, snapping the pen a couple of times, “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you lately. I should’ve been.”

“Hey, I get that you’re busy. You don’t have to take care of me.”

“We’re _all_ always busy. I can’t even remember when we last had dinner together before that time with Jane The Virgin and pizza.”

“Are you suggesting something?”

“Nah,” Kevin smiles, and greets the customer that comes through the door behind Castiel’s back. “We’re quite busy at the time -- but when we’re done with whatever planning we have, and the store’s up to date with both stock and inventory, we’re having another one of those nights.”

“We definitely will,” Castiel says. He’s about to continue, but there’s the sound of someone clearing his throat behind him. He turns around, momentarily thinking about how rude it was of him to not greet the customer in the first place, and meets green eyes — and the feeling of falling.

“Hey, Castiel,” Dean says, pronouncing his name with a quirk of his lip, “I was hoping to run into you here.”

“Hello, Dean,” he replies, his voice coming out lower than he thought it would. “You found me.”

“Yeah, I did,” Dean says with a grin. He seems to get lost for a moment, then inhales sharply. “What’s the scent?”

“It’s… Uh, it’s pine.”

“Pine?”

“Well. Yes. We have a diffuser by the door to lure in clients. Today I used pine, because it has a purifying effect. And, of course, our Daily Blend has it.”

“I wasn’t lured here by it,” Dean admits, “or by the purity, for the matter. I do like the touch, though. It’s ground-level marketing at its best.”

“Yeah, well. You should know about marketing.”

“I’ve got a whole department for that so, no, I wouldn’t. I just sign when they bring me papers.”

Castiel hums and walks to the plain teas to distract himself with meaningless reorganizing. “So, what brings you here?”

“I wanted to get to know you better,” Dean says. Castiel lifts his eyebrows. Is he really that forward? Is Castiel reading way too much into this?

“Alright. Well,” Castiel starts, and is really happy that Dean cuts him off, because he doesn’t know what he was about to say.

“Yeah, it’s mandatory that I know my party planner well. In many ways, this is a very important thing. I kind of fear leaving all the threads to you.”

“I thought it was all about trusting our judgement.”

“Of course I trust you, or we wouldn’t have made a deal; but since I don’t know you as well as my brother does, I’m worried.”

Castiel watches as Dean takes a bag of Daily Blend in his hands. He brings it to his face and sniffs it. What a dork.

“This is awesome. I want this.”

“You wanted to get to know us.”

“Uh, I was talking about you, singular. Because you’re the CEO. Or am I mistaken?”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Castiel sighs. He feels nervous about the idea of spending time alone with Dean Winchester — and not only because he thinks he might be too into it. What is it about this man that keeps him on edge?

“I promise,I don’t have any ulterior motives here. I just genuinely want to get to know you.”

“It would be weird from me to say no, wouldn’t it?” Castiel says. Dean turns around to look at him with a worried expression on his face.

“Do you want to say no?”

“I’m busy today,” Castiel says, “unless you want to join me in some tastings for a possible future catering company.”

“I wouldn’t want to disturb your affairs.”

“It would kind of make sense,” Kevin says from behind the counter, the pen now casually in his mouth. He takes it off to point it towards whoever he’s talking to. “Since  you’re afraid of leaving all the threads to us and want to get to know Castiel better; and Castiel, you could use a helping hand… Or mouth.”

Castiel throws a fiery look towards Kevin, who smiles innocently and shrugs.

“Would that be alright with you?”

“I don’t mind,” Castiel says. “It’ll be another hour before I get out of here, though.”

“If you wanna go see the ship first, Balthazar’s gonna be there,” Kevin says, “As you can see, we’re in no rush here.”

Castiel looks at Dean, who stares back and brings the bag of Daily Blend under his nose again.

Alright. Castiel can do this.


	8. The Dream(er)

Castiel and Dean exit the store in silence that stretches for a couple of steps.

“So, I’m sorry for dragging you away from your work like that,” Dean says.

“It’s alright. I’m sorry I’m so hesitant about this.”

_I was recently housebound and I can’t be alone with strangers yet_ is not exactly a good thing to say to your client, right?

“I don’t know if I’d trust me, either. I don’t know how much you know about me, but I bet it’s mostly business related.”

Castiel shrugs. They walk to a black car and Dean opens the door for him. First, Castiel thinks it’s chivalry, but it becomes painfully obvious that Dean is actually just trying to protect the car. It’s valuable to him for whatever masculine reason that Castiel doesn’t want to know anything about, to be honest.

The sound of the engine is nice, though. It resonates in Castiel’s chest in a way that good music sometimes does.

“So, you seem to be fine with the boat?” he eventually says. Dean narrows his eyes a notch, as if he’s thinking hard, then nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I don’t see why not.”

“Good, then. I think fireworks look amazing at sea.”

“How are you gonna- uh. Never mind. I know you’ll do a good job.”

“Go on, tell me. I’m here to answer all your party-related questions and soothe your worries.”

Dean takes his bottom lip between his teeth while he’s thinking. Castiel absent-mindedly follows the movement with his eyes.

They turn to a road leading to the beach, and the view from up the hill is magnificent as always. There’s a spot where you can stand and it looks like the road drops into the ocean. It’s always a slight disappointment to Castiel when it doesn’t — not that he’s looking for a near-death experience, but he loves the idea of jumping to the ocean from up high.

They drive silently to the harbor, where Balthazar is standing next to a couple of small boats. He waves enthusiastically at them after they exit the car.

“Hey, loves,” he says. “I’m so glad you could make it. There’s three I like over the others, and I can’t make up my mind.”

Apart from being way too familiar with their client, Balthazar’s obviously doing well. He chats away while they walk on the docks that seem almost maze-like. Balthazar rambles about technical qualities and details while they walk across the front deck of a boat to check out the interior. It’s nothing extraordinary, but it would serve the purpose; enough people would fit, and most would even sit comfortably.

“We used to go on a lot of cruises when we were kids,” Dean says, mostly to himself. He leans against the wooden wall of the hallway that leads to stairs. Is this place too narrow? There’s three hundred people, after all. “Sam and me. Our dad would take us on cruises.”

“Do you have good cruise memories?” Castiel asks. “Or is there something we should deal with before we take off into the unknown?”

“No, they were, uh, good memories, mostly. Of course, dad could get a little lost in the bar sections of ships and we’d go look for him because we were worried. He usually shouted at us for being up so late.”

Dean frowns while he talks, but he doesn’t seem hurt. Still, Castiel needs to address this issue.

“Are you sure this is not too overwhelming for you? It’s still early, we can make a change of plan,” Castiel says, keeping his voice low because Balthazar’s headed a bit further away and he’s not sure how many people Dean is comfortable sharing this with.

“No, absolutely not. Nuh-uh. There might be a couple of reminders of Dad in the party, but then again, he’s bound to come up anyway. We did inherit the company from him, after all. Ain’t no way people don’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s not even that recent, though,” Castiel says, “how come they still want to chat about it?”

“It’s their favorite story. Some poor kids become successful through hard work.”

“Just know that I don’t want to add to your distress with my choices. I want to make people as comfortable as possible, and that includes you and Sam more than anyone. You’re our clients.”

“I know,” Dean says, something in his demeanor lighting up a little as he starts walking towards Balthazar. “It’s pretty much the same as with the safety. Anything can happen anywhere.”

Castiel smiles, and that’s when they reunite with Balthazar.

“Are you feeling this?” he asks Castiel, who shrugs.

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve seen in the world, since the basics are there, but I think the stairs and the hallway might be a bit on the narrow side for the amount of people we’re having.”

“Agreed. That brings me to our boat number two. You’ll love it. Let’s go.”

As they step out, Castiel stumbles a little. Since Balthazar is whistling a couple of feet ahead, Dean’s the one who catches him. His hand feels warm on Castiel’s elbow and for a full five seconds, they just stare at each other. Oh, those are some green eyes, Castiel notes dumbly, as if he hadn’t done that before, and then he straightens up and wipes imaginary dust off his pants.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, and that’s when Dean notices he’s still holding on to Castiel’s arm. He lets go and a blush covers his freckles almost completely.

“I’m used to helping my moose of a brother with his legs,” he admits, “it’s really done good for my reflexes.”

“I bet,” Castiel hums, and they walk a couple of steps until they reach Balthazar, who has now stopped. For a moment, he feels his friend is going to call them out on some meet-cute nonsense, but instead, he gestures to a boat.

It’s stunning. It’s mostly glass, fully open-concept — there is visibility all the way to the dock through the wall-size windows — and the upper deck is open air with a canopy shelter. Castiel knows he doesn’t even have to go inside. This is exactly what he’s looking for.

*

Balthazar wants to join them for the caterer’s tasting, but decides he’s needed more with security issues instead. That leaves Dean and Castiel alone in each other’s company again, and although it’s still awkward, they’re at least trying their best to get along. It does cause some mixed feelings for Castiel; of course, he wants them to get along, because that’d make their affairs run smoothly, but if they really hit it off, he would be screwed for sure.

So hoping both that Dean is an ass and that he’s not, he steps into the caterer’s restaurant. It’s rush hour, but they’ve been reserved a table by the window.

“I’ve been to a couple of caterer’s tastings,” Dean admits as they glance at drinks on the special menu just for them, “but they’re rarely like this. This seems like the restaurant can’t make do with their catering service alone.”

“Well, if you’d done research, you’d know. These people are so great they were invited to cater for exclusive dinner parties and other events for the jet-set, but they were in such high demand that they finally capitulated and established this restaurant, where their best dishes are served on a regular basis. That, of course, resulted in high-class citizens getting offended because they would no longer be able to get exclusive food for their hoity-toity parties.”

“I feel I’ve just been insulted more than once, but go on.”

There’s nothing that reads as _insulted_ in Dean’s expression as he listens to Castiel talk. No — instead, he seems like he’s enjoying himself more than he originally thought he would.

“They’ve crafted new recipes, and keep on changing all the time. It’s lovely, really. Although, now I need to be honest; I don’t know a lot about this place yet, only what I’ve read online. This will be a new experience for me as well.”

A young woman with sparkle in her eyes and a bounce in her step approaches them and smiles widely.

“Hello! Welcome to Freja. My name is Gilda and I’ll be taking care of you today.”

“Hello, Gilda,” Castiel says, smiling back before getting up and shaking her hand. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

“That’s what I aim for,” Gilda says with a wink, and turns towards Dean, who’s also gotten up from his seat. “Ah, nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester. Is it your party we’re on trial for today?”

“That’s what it seems like, yes,” Dean says. “Nice to meet you. I hope you’ll charm Castiel with your food today, because it’s his expertise I trust more than my own.”

Gilda nods, takes their drink orders and leaves.

“Looks like you’re betting a lot on me,” Castiel states, “I don’t know how to live up to those expectations.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I just function on burgers and half-assed meat. If it’s something fancy you’re planning to serve at the party, it’s better that you make the calls.”

“You should eat your greens, at least,” Castiel sighs, mostly to himself. Dean gives him a reprimanding look, but they fall silent for a moment and their drinks arrive in the meantime.

Gilda doesn’t take food orders from them, since it’s about showing what kind of experiences they’ll be able to offer. Soon enough, the first bites arrive.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy these in peace,” Gilda says, placing four different plates with aperitifs on the table. Then, she nods to Castiel and leaves.

“So, hamburgers,” Castiel says, mainly to break the silence. He takes a blini in his hand and scrutinizes it. Smells of fresh salmon, but is in pate form.

“Well, yeah. I work overtime on most days and let’s face it, the only people willing to bring me food in the middle of the night are hamburger joints.”

“You’d be surprised. If you want, I could give you a list of restaurants that are open late and offer delivery services.”

The look in Dean’s face is of mild surprise, and Castiel realizes he might just have stepped over some boundaries. Sure, Dean could respect his opinion regarding the party, but it’s a whole other thing to suggest what Dean should do with his free time.

“Let’s just see how this goes first,” Dean says with mild amusement as he takes a blini in his hand. Castiel has already shoved his into his mouth, and he knows they’re good enough for Dean to try out too.

“You, of course, are allowed to make suggestions as well. Do you think a fish-heavy menu would be good for a cruise? It’s obvious, that’s for sure.”

“Have you planned a theme of any sort? We didn’t put you under any obligations regarding that.”

“Well, initially we were thinking ‘fourth of July, the ocean, and tea’ and kind of thought of the Boston Tea Party,” Castiel says, leaning his elbow to the table to prop his chin on his palm, “but that’s a cheap trick.”

Dean laughs at the cheap trick anyway, and Castiel is pleased.

“Also, Balthazar’s French and doesn’t feel the need to reminisce about American history that much. Then we thought about how that could be easily get messed up with the modern Tea Party Movement, and we definitely don’t want that.”

“Well, I gathered you don’t want to get involved in politics from the name of your store,” Dean points out with another huff of laughter.

“Actually,” Castiel says, frowning and leaning in, “the title is a bit of a lie. I was involved in local politics before I-”

He doesn’t know how to end the sentence. Before what? Before December? But that would be a lie — he wasn’t involved since…

Since he started dating Bartholomew.

Still, something in Dean’s features changes. The way he looks at him isn’t judging, no, it’s something softer — almost admiring.

“Well, we all have to do sacrifices for our work,” he says nonchalantly and picks up a sesame cracker with avocado and cream cheese on top. Castiel smiles and steers the subject back towards the theme.

“So anyway, we have the cruise, and we have the Fourth of July, and we’re working on our surprise element as we speak. We will possibly choose an aesthetic for our decorative items, but other than that, bringing a whole theme to the party might seem like stuffing it too full. After all, the day is enough of a theme to begin with. I don’t want to crush your conservative friends by arranging a whole Hobbit theme in there.”

“Aw, that’s too bad. I do like the Lord of the Rings.”

Castiel lifts his eyebrows in a question. “Books or movies?”

“Why not both?” Dean asks, a challenge for a debate on his face. Gilda disrupts them, taking their half-full plates away, soon replacing them with a variety of artisan breads cut into sticks and bowls of salsa-type dips. Soon, she also brings in what seems like a lamb chop, finger food-sized.

“I agree with you,” Dean says when they’re alone again. “Bringing in a whole theme might be a bit too much.”

They keep on tasting things for an hour and a half, and shower Gilda with their praise. It’s unlikely they’ll go for another caterer, but Castiel wants to make sure to discuss it with his colleagues first.

As they emerge from the restaurant, Castiel feels his anxiety rising. There was something in the chocolate meringue that reminded him of last Christmas, and the absolute rock bottom he was at back then. Before he can tell his mind to shut it, the tremors of a panic attack are running wild throughout his body, making him bend over and then squat. He thinks Dean says something, but he cannot hear it through the ringing and rustling in his ears. He presses his eyes closed when he feels a hand gently push him back until he sits right there on the asphalt of the parking lot. He hears his breath sputter and his heart trying to escape all his limbs at once, and for a while it engulfs him completely.

After what feels like too long for it to be socially acceptable, he starts hearing again. Dean’s talking. Is he on the phone? No, his voice is too quiet, too private; it’s meant for Castiel. Dean’s sitting right by him — Castiel’s eyes are still closed, so he has to navigate through sound and sense — but Dean’s definitely right there. Castiel tries to focus harder, and words start making sense again.

“…and it was really stupid, I mean, we could…”

“…and totally get away with it, because whenever he found us we would tell him…”

“…many people would come to us and ask…”

“…and blame him, but in reality, we were just totally screwing him over.”

Silence falls, and Castiel opens his eyes. Dean’s gaze is calm, with warmth in his eyes.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello… Dean,” Castiel forces out. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nice to see you,” Dean continues on, “do you want to go sit in the car, or do you prefer the fresh air?”

“What are you doing?”

Dean stops fiddling with a blade of grass he’d possibly ripped from the field that started next to them. How did they end up here? Castiel’s sure they were a bit more to the middle of the lot.

“What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you calling the ambulance? Why aren’t you asking me questions? Why aren’t you in your car, driving away?”

“It’s a panic attack you’re having, right?”

Castiel looks at Dean, who’s so, _so_ calm.

“Yeah.”

“I know someone who gets those. I know it’s not one size fits all, but I kind of can figure out what to do. Of course, I’ll call you an ambulance if you feel you need one, though.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, thanks.”

He wraps his arms around his knees and leans his forehead against his knee.

He misses James.

 

*

Castiel groans and hits his forehead firmly on the counter.

“I don’t want to ask, but I am asking. What’s up?”

Castiel lifts his gaze to see Meg walking from the Daily Blend table slowly, so she could bolt the door in case the going got too tough.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Castiel huffs. “Just… Do you have those days when you don’t want to leave home?”

“You’ve been having some of those days, for starters,” Meg laughs lazily, “okay, but this ain’t about that. What do you mean?”

“I had a panic attack last night.”

“Well… Okay? I know that sucks big ass because you’ve been doing so much better lately, but-”

“In front of a client.”

“You mean, here?”

“I mean after the caterer’s tasting with Dean Winchester.”

“Oh, yeah, Kevin told me you left with that piece of ass,” Meg hums, her eyes focusing somewhere in the distance for a while, “so, you had a panic attack-”

“While we were heading out. In the parking lot. In the middle of the freaking parking lot, Meg.”

“Oh. Okay, I can see how that’s… awkward. How’d he take it?”

“You know, that’s the worst thing,” Castiel continues, arches his back to snap a vertebra and then hitting his head on the counter again. “He knew what it was. He didn’t freak out, he didn’t instantly try to leave. Instead, he apparently told me a story.”

“Apparently.”

“Yeah, the attack was bad. I couldn’t hear shit for a while. After I was done, he drove me home. It was embarrassing.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is chivalrous, or flattering, but go on.”

“No, that’s exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want our client to think the company they hired to deal for their important party has a weak, sick leader.”

“Well, if having an illness is what makes you weak in their eyes, they’re worth nothing and we don’t need customers like that.”

“Think of the money, Meg.”

“I’ll never think of the money over anyone’s health, and you don’t either. Please don’t bully yourself over this. Besides, it went well, right?”

“It went so eerily well I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“That’s a good sign, then. Remember when you last had a panic attack in the company of someone that wasn’t any of us?”

Castiel frowns. He does, kind of… But not well enough to consider it a memory.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Meg looks at Castiel for a moment, biting her lip. “Well, I don’t know if I should tell you that while we’re working.”

“No, come on. It’s obviously quiet today and I want to know.”

“It was after our Halloween show, and Bartholomew took us all for drinks to a bar he wanted to check out. And someone came up to you and said something, and that’s what triggered your attack.”

Castiel _does_ remember.

It had been a long day, and Bart told Castiel he’d reward him later with something he didn’t want to tell in advance. For the life of him, that was a part Castiel’s brain refused to remember. Instead, he remembered the bar now — it was mostly bathed in cold blue light, and the music was loud just the way music is always loud in bars. They sat in a booth, and some of them stood at a round table while they were drinking. Castiel stood there, sipping beer from a bottle, talking with Bart and Balthazar, and then a man came up to them — a restless-looking older fellow in a suit, his bald head shining in the lights. He’d given Castiel a once-over, leaned in, licked his lips and whispered:

“Can I put my cock in your mouth?”

Castiel gasped, took two full steps back and tried to catch his breath. He didn’t look at the man, but he felt his hungry eyes on him. He felt his privacy, his freaking _existence_ was in jeopardy over the words this man chose to say to him… He left his beer because he didn’t trust himself not to drop it, and tried to see if Eileen was around, because she was safe and damn it Castiel could need some safety -- but she was nowhere to be found, and Castiel was getting dizzy already, so he muttered an excuse to Bart and Balthazar and headed outside.

There were people smoking cigarettes all over the pavement, so he felt he was safe enough to take a seat on one of the patio chairs. He tried to inhale, and exhale, but it came out all wrong and shaky and stuttered. This wasn’t the first time he felt this overwhelmed over something, so he knew this was a panic attack; now all he needed to do was to get home, and sleep it off.

Before long, Bart walked out and found him sitting on the chair, hunched like his posture was worse than it truly was.

“Hi,” Castiel said weakly. “Can we go home?”

Bart gave him a look he had never seen before — it was lacking all empathy and consisted fully of ice. “No, Castiel. We can’t.”

Something in the way Bart said his name made Castiel not want to argue. Instead, he looked at the people around them, all partying and having a good time. He felt his chest clench.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound mean,” Bart continued, as if the harm wasn’t already done, “but you bailed on me just when I was about to introduce you to someone. Now you- I don’t want to say you made me look bad, but…”

Bart did a balancing gesture with both his hands. He didn’t need to say anything more to make Castiel realize just how bad he screwed up this time.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he said, “I can explain it to them-”

“No, the moment has passed. Let’s go back inside, I need to get drunk.”

As Castiel got up, he noticed Meg sitting on the next table, smoking a cigarette that was her bad habit when she was intoxicated. They’d glanced at each other, but never spoke of the situation again.

Until now.

“Well, that might have been out of line,” Castiel says hesitantly. Meg gasps exaggeratedly and huffs out a laugh.

“You don’t say?”

“It… It was a bad night for him. But I can see where he was coming from.”

Meg doesn’t say anything, but she’s wearing a deep frown that sticks with her until she turns towards the door as a customer comes in.

*

**S: The flowers are in their most beautiful bloom, James. You should see them.**

**S: [balcony.jpg]**

**S: Isn’t it beautiful?**

_J: It’s really beautiful_

_J: How have you been? I haven’t heard from you that much_

_J: Then again I haven’t tried either_

_J: Are you going to work regularly now?_

**S: More or less so. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, it just seems like things are moving fast. I really missed you the other day, though.**

_J: You did?_

_J: That’s great_

_J: I mean I was wondering when I thought of you the other day_

_J: That do you ever think about me when we’re not talking._

_J: I know that’s lame but I couldn’t help it_

**S: No, that’s not lame. Of course I think of you during the times when we don’t talk. But now that we’re actually doing that, I don’t want to keep on guessing how you’re feeling. Tell me. What’s up?**

_J: Nothing much, business as usual_

_J: I feel like I need to move_

_J: Like do you ever get that feeling when you’re just so done with some town that you just want to kind of leave_

_J: For good maybe_

_J: Or maybe for a really long vacation_

**S: Well, not recently. It’s weird, because this feels like a thing I once thought about a lot. Remember that time when we wanted to go to Iceland? Man, we really wanted to go to Iceland together.**

_J: Yeah, what’s the deal with that?_

_J: Why did we want to get there?_

**S: I think your exact words were “hot Scandinavian babes in the geysers”**

_J: Oh shit. Sorry about that._

**S: Yeah, and before I could get on a full on rage fit you said “You know you’re the only babe I want to look at” to which I replied with “You don’t even know what I look like”.**

_J: Is there a blushing because I’m so embarrassed of the person I was ten years ago emoji_

**S: [blush, one, zero, elderly person]**

_J: Thanks_

_J: Steve, that’s the stuff I do like_

Castiel lifts his face towards the direct sunlight. He’s sitting on the balcony, the flowers are all in full bloom, and he feels alive. The scents are overwhelming, and he wishes he could take them all with him to the store. He wonders where he left all the sunflower seeds and if they’ve started to grow already. Summer solstice is just around the corner, and if even some of them took root, they should start pushing through cracks in the pavement and parks soon enough.

His phone rings, and it’s Balthazar. It takes a while to understand what his tone of voice means.

“Hey, Castiel,” he says. Is that nervousness? “I need you for something.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Nope. Definitely, uh, definitely nope. I really want you to come for a cup of coffee with me today. I really need you to, alright?”

“I’m not saying yes before I know what you’re hiding and we both know that.”

“Well, this is regarding the surprise element of the party,” he continues. Oh, it’s _excitement_. “I’ve got a thing I want to talk to you about.”

“And you can’t deal with it over phone?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course not. After all, it’s you they want to be the main act.”

Castiel groans. He does have his therapist scheduled for today, but to be honest, he’s kind of been looking for an excuse to cancel the appointment for once.

“Okay. Where do we meet?”

“I’ll come pick you up in a moment. Ta-ta!”

The call ends.

**S: Alright, seems like I’m needed somewhere. Send me messages if you want to, but I bet you have a schedule, too.**

_J: Hm, what was that?_

_J: Just imagining you sitting there with those flowers._

_J: The view is really nice_

**S: James! [blush emoji] Why are you like this?**

_J: Like what?_

_J: Smitten?_

_J: I’m a bit smitten, Steve, NGL._

Castiel shakes his head, although he feels warmth radiating from inside him. He puts on a torn black denim jacket, three different necklaces and countless bracelets and beads to work as his armor for whatever’s coming up.

_Smitten_. God, that’s a good word for what he feels.

 

Balthazar wants to talk about clothing, and how much freedom he’ll have over Castiel’s appearance. Since Castiel doesn’t have opinions whatsoever, Balthazar draws rough drafts of wings on napkins, humming to himself happily. Castiel wants to argue, but he’s still thinking about James with hearts quite likely floating over his head.

*

After a week and one quick lunch with Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel finds himself alone with Dean again. They haven’t talked one-on-one since the panic attack, even though Castiel knows Dean’s not going to treat him like he’s got something contagious.

It’s summer solstice, and they’ve been looking through their budget estimations that are, surprisingly, pretty much exactly what they’d guessed they would be. Before signing contracts with all their vendors, they decide to call it a night. Since neither Balthazar or Meg came there in a car and Castiel didn’t bring any cash (and to be frank, he’s still hesitant about public transport), Dean offers to drive him home.

It’s eight in the evening when they make it to the highway by the ocean. They drive in silence for a while, until Dean clears his throat.

“How are you?”

Castiel opens his mouth to tell him he doesn’t need to feel like he owes Castiel his care — that he doesn’t need to pretend to be interesting in his well-being. Instead, the look on Dean’s face is almost naively curious. He really wants to know? Alright.

“Good. Thanks for asking, Dean.”

“Uh… Not for nothing, but stop lying to me.”

“What?”

“I don’t… I’m sorry,” Dean sighs and tries to start the sentence again, “I know it’s been hard for you being around me since the last time.”

“It has been uncomfortable, yes. Still, it doesn’t affect me enough to not feel good.”

“Oh. Of course not.”

The silence is tense with anticipation, and Castiel decides to ease it by rolling the window all the way open. The breeze is warm, but cools down the stagnant air inside the car. Castiel leans out a bit, inhales through his nose, catching the scent of the ocean, and wild flowers, and birch trees. It’s good, but it makes him long for something he can’t remember.

“…a while?”

Oh crap, Dean’s talking. Castiel pulls his head fully back inside and glances at him.

“Excuse me,” he says, “I didn’t catch that.”

Dean huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. Then, he drags his palm across his face.

“Are you in a hurry?”

Castiel tilts his head. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“Do you want to keep on driving for a while? I mean, uh, obviously I would do the driving. You would… Pretty much just sit there. I don’t know why you’d like that, but-”

“But I would,” Castiel confirms before Dean can get into a whole spin of regret over an innocent question, “I would like that. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Yeah, and it seems like such a waste to go home and sleep when the summer’s finally fully here.”

“True,” Castiel says and crosses his arms on the open window to lean his chin upon his upper wrist. His ears are inside, so he can hear Dean as he keeps talking.

“This is exactly the time of year we used to go to cruises with my family when we were kids,” he says, almost solemnly.

“I used to use the longer days collecting plants,” Castiel admits. “My family was out of town a lot, and I liked to be by myself.”

“Well, we’ve got that in common, then. I liked to be on my own, too, whenever it was possible. For me, though, it always included Sammy. We were always together.”

“That’s great, having a brother who’s close,” Castiel said, hoping Dean would drop the subject. No such luck.

“What do you mean? Do you have siblings?”

“I do. We’re just so far apart that we never… Really got along, if you know what I mean. When I was five, my big brother was sixteen.”

“Oh, wow. That does explain it. Were you the only children?”

“I have a sister, too. But I don’t feel comfortable talking about my family, if that’s alright.”

He’d made the same decision with James, as well. Very early on, as they started to get closer to each other, he told James he didn’t want to talk about family. James had understood it immediately, and wanted nothing more than to make Castiel comfortable. Many people after that had either complied or ignored his wish, and it was always a 50-50 chance with new people.

“What kind of plants did you like to collect?” Dean asks. Castiel finally pulls himself back in and rolls the window back up. He can still feel the breeze in his nose and lungs, and he knows he’s going to be alright tonight. No pre-waves of an upcoming panic attack.

“I used to collect flowers first, but then I decided I need my own little herbatorium,” he explains. “I… Haven’t done that in ages, though. I just order things from the vendor now.”

“Would you like to?”

“To collect things again? I mean, sure, if I had the time. Nature is beautiful and has much to offer. You don’t even need to venture far; there are things outside of town that could very well be used for tea, for example.”

Dean nods and frowns to himself for a moment, before talking again.

“Would you like to do that now?”

“Hm?”

“Just get outside the town for a while, collect some things. It’s not going to be night yet.”

“I don’t have my scissors-”

“Cas,” Dean says, flashing him a smile that’s nothing short of stunning, “I happen to have a couple of plastic containers on my trunk. Come on, live a little.”

Castiel hums. “I guess I could. If it’s not too much to ask of you, I know a place that’s perfect… Or, rather, was perfect five years ago.”

“Let’s hope that didn’t change,” Dean says, and focuses on the road.

 

Castiel gives directions that Dean follows, and soon enough they’re driving on a narrow dirt road. Castiel can feel Dean’s stress levels elevating — the road is bumpy and full of small pebbles that could easily damage the paint of his car. He makes a mental note to ask  Dean about the car at some point. Why’s it so important? Does he really even want to know?

Yes. He doesn’t know why, but he’s curious about Dean Winchester.

_Because you like him,_ his brain supplies and instantly follows up with a right hook punch of guilt that he’s feeling anything for someone that isn’t James. James, who just the other day told him he’s smitten. That should answer the prayers Castiel doesn’t even remember making; the prayers of him wishing James would return to him and love him again.

“Pull over here,” he says and Dean follows his advice. “If you dare to leave the car, it’s a short walk from here.”

“Sure,” Dean claims, but the hesitation is clear as day in his voice. “I’m not sure if I’ve got the right shoes for cross country, though.”

“No, the terrain’s fine. Just a couple of steps up the cliffs.”

The stony cliff ascends steadily and gently, and it’s easy to walk it up. Behind the ridge is a small meadow,  a wildly-grown thing, and to many people  just weeds that could be mowed and replaced with a lot for a cottage or a house. For Castiel, though, this is a treasury. Wildflowers and herbs and roots grow all around, and it fills Castiel’s heart with such joy to see it — it’s so close to the feeling he missed earlier. It’s filling him up with memories of past that was just his and nobody else’s; the memory of him belonging to himself alone, and not being as an accessory, or existing to please someone.

He makes it through a full minute before he starts feeling guilty again. Nobody had asked him to exist for them. He had made the assumption himself.

He walks among the tall grass and lets his hands caress twigs and ferns here and there. He faintly hears Dean following somewhere behind him, but doesn’t bother looking back. Somehow, an image of James fills his mind, and how nice it would be here with him, with the man he once loved, and could love again, if either of them ever were brave enough.

It’s not blackberry season yet, but Castiel makes it to the strawberries by memory. They’re raw in places, but some are just perfect for him to collect in a plastic container that’s handed out to him from behind his back.

“These are perfect,” Castiel says, forcing himself back to the moment with Dean, “why do you have these in your trunk?”

“We were supposed to go picking currants from a friend’s garden,” Dean explains. “But, uhm. Work got in the way.”

“So you’re using me as your redemption?”

“No. Maybe a little. Shut up.”

Castiel almost snickers. He feels elated. “And here I thought my friend was right for calling you chivalrous! You’re doing this for selfish reasons.”

“Am not! Generally, I just wanted to do something nice for you, because you seem stressed.”

“And it doesn’t matter if you profit in the meantime, right?”

“Cas, stop being an ass.”

Castiel smiles privately and squats next to the strawberries. He picks a container full in happy silence, and moves on to raspberries next. Dean stays silent.

When he’s done with the berries, he decides to make a run for the car to free his hands for herbs and flowers. Dean wanders further and Castiel decides to follow; there’s a stream down there, and he’d easily find both nettles and mint. On the way, he absent-mindedly picks some chamomile, English lavender, and dandelion leaves, using excess flowers to braid a lopsided flower crown for himself. Only after doing so does he remember that he used to make a lot of flower crowns, during the summers when he was younger. It first feels suffocating to realize that he might have forgotten plenty of things he used to do before Bart, but soon he feels like he did back home when he was sitting on the table; not caring for rules, just enjoying the state of being. This is meditation at its best.

Dean is standing on the first big stones of the stream, focusing on the flow of the water. Castiel harvests some young mint leaves and nettles that sting him, and he feels Dean’s stare on him the entire time. Finally, he gathers his courage and raises his gaze to meet Dean’s.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this. Dean’s expression is that of awe; but also admiration, fondness, intrigue, and — yes, and no, it can’t be — what looks almost like _love._ That shine in his eyes reminds Castiel of himself, on those rare occasions he caught himself in front of a mirror while thinking about James way back in college. Castiel’s no fool, he knows what a person in love looks like, but this _cannot be,_ and he knows it _isn’t._ They haven’t met enough times, Dean doesn’t know a _single thing_ about Castiel-

He exhales softly and calms down. Alright, maybe Castiel reminds Dean of someone he loves right now. It’s nothing personal. He straightens his posture and meets Dean’s gaze with a challenging one this time, and sure enough, Dean’s expression shifts; he closes down completely, as if a cage is closed so fast and hard Castiel can almost hear the sound.

As they head back to the car, Castiel picks a couple of freshly fallen pine branches from the ground. They’d make a good tea for tomorrow.


	9. The Denier

It’s awful.

Castiel lies in bed and cannot sleep. It’s already five in the morning: the sun is rising, he hears birds through the open balcony door, he smells the flowers. He thinks of wild roses and how they’d make fine tea. He wants to go find roses for tea.

It’s not like he’s had a full on relapse, not yet, at least. He just doesn’t want to _bother_.

He’s afraid Dean’s falling for him. He knows it’s a stretch, because for _him, seriously_? But he can’t deny the way Dean had looked at him.

He takes his phone and keys, puts on his sneakers and a light jacket and leaves. He doesn’t have to work in the morning, so that’s a definite relief, but he needs to call Dr. Redfield to arrange a new Skype session. He doesn’t want to — he’d rather stop his therapy altogether. He’s heard horror stories about stopping therapy before you should, though, and that’s something he doesn’t feel he’s ready to go through with.

For now, he walks outside in the astronomical dusk and thinks about both James and Dean. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to deal with either. He wants to see where the tides take him, and for once, try to be himself. The thought makes him want to dodge, since Bart let him be himself and put up with his worst, helped Castiel in many ways… Still, there’s something about their relationship he’s not comfortable with. Ever since he first told James about the library scene, he’s been wondering.

There was a situation in which Castiel and Bartholomew were watching TV on a regular Friday night. A show about entrepreneurs was on; for the life of him, Castiel couldn’t remember what it was called, but it wasn’t the one with Dragons.

“Creative people are so weird,” Bart said, “I have never fully understood that.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re putting up companies and stores according to their own ‘artistic vision’, even if they don’t know that much about being an entrepreneur.”

Castiel shook his head. “I think they’re finding out about entrepreneurship as they go.”

“And making the rest of us pay for their mistakes,” Bart continued, “and I’ll be there to clean up their messes.”

“Still, we wouldn’t have much without creativity,” Castiel said, “although of course, sometimes mistakes or miscalculations happen. Doesn’t mean nothing should ever change.”

“Let me tell you what’s the most important occupation in the world, Castiel,” Bart said, and Castiel already knew what was coming. “It’s being an investment broker. You need to know when to encourage a human and when not to. If I were to encourage everyone to invest in these little ‘creative’ startup businesses, I’d be out of a job in a week or less. The investor would want my hide above their fireplace in no time. It just rarely pays off, that’s all.”

_So you’d rather play it safe and make people invest in things that are already successful?_ Castiel thought. He didn’t dare speak up again, because Bartholomew was already getting into  a foul mood.

“Let me tell you, those bastards just want the easy way out of the job market. They wish they’d get so rich so fast they wouldn’t have to do any real work.”

_Are you saying what I do isn’t real work? After all, I’ve got quite a lot to do with creativity._

“Only thing worse than that is when people become musicians, or actors. That’s them trying to get off the hook.”

Castiel gulped, trying to keep his words down, and succeeding only barely. This felt like a personal attack against him, but he didn’t know why Bart would see it necessary. Castiel hadn’t done anything to piss him off, had he? _How stupid of Bart to be this inconsiderate -_

He remembered forgetting his keys at home just last week and Bart driving fifty miles to open the door for him. No, Bart wasn’t inconsiderate.

A buzz of his phone returns Castiel to the now.

_J: You can’t sleep either?_

For a second, Castiel thinks the message is from Dean, but it’s James. Of course, Dean doesn’t have his personal phone number.

**S: Love is troublesome, James.**

_J: You don’t say._

_J: That’s what’s keeping me awake, to be honest_

_J: But it’s not really my story to tell, or love for the matter_

_J: Do you ever feel like you’re trapped?_

**S: I feel trapped more often than I don’t.**

_J: Really? Can I help?_

**S: I don’t think so, no. It’s a beautiful night, though. I have no idea where you live, but here, it’s a beautiful night.**

_J: Yeah, same here. Although it seems to be morning already, soon. I live in the northwest of the States, which I think I’ve told you before_

_J: That’s why it’s no longer night_

**S: Well, yeah. I think it’s getting closer to six already. Not sure if it’s night anywhere anymore.**

_J: In that case, good morning, Steve._

_J: How’s your balcony?_

**S: I’m looking for wild flowers. For multiple purposes, really, but for now, maybe to accompany the fuchsia. It’s lonely.**

_J: Are you lonely?_

_J: Sorry that was zero smooth._

**S: Who’s this? The James I know is smoother than that.**

_J: Very funny._

_J: Answer me._

**S: Yes, my friend, I think I am. I don’t know why, but I am. I don’t like being lonely, since a relationship’s the last thing I need in my schedule right now, but I am lonely.**

Castiel’s heart beats audibly in his ears as he sends this message. He doesn’t want James to think he’s absolutely not interested in him, but James also wanted honesty from him. He couldn’t keep on pretending romance is on the  books for him anytime soon. Luckily, James doesn’t seem to mind.

_J: Well, sometimes you don’t get to decide what fits in your schedule and what doesn’t_

_J: That sounded threatening_

_J: And like I’m trying to play you somehow,_

_J: To make you change your mind so you’d take a chance on me_

_J: That I’m never going to demand from you._

**S: How’d you know I was awake?**

_J: The ring, smart boy. The patterns of your heartbeat change more than they do when you sleep._

**S: How would you know?**

**S: Unless, of course, you’re suffering from insomnia.**

_J: Ya, I am._

_J: Sorry, didn’t mean to trouble you with that._

**S: Don’t make this weird. It’s quid pro quo, James. I want to know what’s going on in your life. If that’s insomnia, then heck, let’s stay up together.**

_J: What?_

_J: I mean obviously, I’d like that, but you don’t have to stay up for me._

**S: I’m up already. I don’t have to work in two days, so I can spend the days sleeping and the nights talking to you.**

_J: Could we game?_

**S: MMORPG? Of course.**

_J: I don’t remember my password anymore…._

**S: Me neither. We really need to make new ones.**

_J: Gotcha. Finding roses?_

**S: Not yet. I’ll let you know.**

 

*

Sam’s standing on the patio of the gym as Castiel enters it. Judging by how he’s standing, Castiel can see that the younger Winchester is in a somewhat meditative state. Instead of interrupting the moment, he decides to rummage through the kitchen and make them a blend; he kind of wants it to become a thing he does here. He does want to talk to Sam about James, and about Dean, but he doesn’t know how to — nor if he should. He might be biased towards his own brother, after all.

The gym is closed today, and they’re alone.

It doesn’t take long before Sam returns inside. Castiel pours them both some lemon-ginger-peppermint rooibos and takes a silent seat on the floor in the middle of the large room. Sam raises his eyebrows at him, but says nothing. Eventually he takes a seat, too, and they sit there, cross-legged, listening to the silence and the birds and the starting rain.

“Hi,” Castiel says then, hesitantly, “It’s been too long since I arrived for me to say hi, isn’t it?”

“It’s never too late,” Sam smiles. “Why are you here? I mean, I’m glad you came, because I’ve wanted to talk to you alone.”

“I was feeling too restless to sleep last night,” Castiel admits.

“Makes sense. I bet things are hectic at work. It’s only a week and a half before the fourth.”

“Well, that’s one of the reasons, sure. But we’ve been working hard and everything is coming together… somewhat. That reminds me, I really need to practice my performance before I can pull off some of the tricks Balthazar has cut out for me.”

“He seems like… A nice guy. A certain type of guy, that’s for sure, but I don’t think he’ll put you through anything you don’t want to do,” Sam says.

“Well, you can think again. He’s an ass and is totally out to get me.”

“Oh.”

“Then again, he does it out of love, mostly.”

“But that’s not what brings you here, is it?”

“No. I… I don’t want to go too deep into my situation here, because I’m not comfortable sharing all the details of my past.”

“Yes, of course,” Sam says, and Castiel kind of wants to tell him to loosen up a bit, because his face is serious, “you can tell me anything.”

“Yeah, I know. But I also know your relationship with your brother is one of a kind. If you don’t tell him what I tell you, he might be able to read your mind.”

“Does this have something to do with Dean?”

Castiel bites his lip to hide his blush. _Damn_ , this wasn’t the point.

“No, it doesn’t. He’s a good man, don’t get me wrong, but I prefer your… Um, finesse with matters of the heart. From what I’ve gathered, he’s more of the type to just power through whatever’s ahead and regret later.”

“You’ve gathered right, then,” Sam laughs, but gets serious way too fast again. “So, what’s the problem? Matters of the heart hints towards love though, doesn’t it?”

“Well, not love, not yet. Infatuation. I’ve found myself in a situation where my past holds me back from doing what I think I want to do. It’s actually even more complicated — I’m not sure I know what I want to do.”

Sam sips his tea and stays quiet for a while. Castiel looks through the window at the rain and thinks about the lilies he found instead of wild roses. He’ll go hunt for roses again tonight, as he’s keeping James company.

“Sounds like you’re troubling yourself over more than you should,” Sam says. “Of course, I can’t know that because you’re keeping all the details from me, but as much of a cliche it is to listen to your heart, you should do that. Now, you’re probably only listening to your head and the possible curveballs it’s throwing your way.”

“It’s about deserving,” Castiel says, and swallows the overflowing rush of emotions he gets from putting this into words. “I don’t think I deserve much.”

“Who told you that?”

“Me,” he answers rapidly, because he doesn’t want to think about Bartholomew telling him just how lucky he is to have found a man that cares for him even though he’s nothing out of the ordinary, “I tell myself that. You don’t know a thing about my past, so you can’t disagree there.”

“I won’t,” Sam sighs, “although I would very much like to. So, you don’t deserve it. What’s the problem, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you don’t deserve it, you shouldn’t be bothered to think about it further. I can’t make your decisions for you, but I’d say you need to either stop thinking about your infatuation, or stop thinking you don’t deserve it.”

When Sam puts it like that, it’s so simple. It’s not enough to keep anyone up at night. A simple either-or thing.

“It becomes problematic, though, when you’re not sure what you deserve and what you don’t. Also, the whole _deserving_ thing is kind of obscure. If you want something, you deserve it. There’s nobody there to judge your previous behavior and decide for you. In cases like this, who cares what you do or what you don’t deserve? Is someone gonna come up to you and tell you ‘hey, by the way, you don’t deserve what you have right now’? And so what if someone is? Does that make your opinion of deserving less valid?”

“You’re tempting me with your words, but you don’t know what you’re implying,” Castiel says, but he can’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

“Or I do know exactly what it is,” Sam says, and there’s something in his words that makes Castiel feel both uneasy and curious. Anyhow, he feels it necessary to change the subject for now.

“Well, I’m glad you were here. Were you just about to go home or could we try some yoga?”

“I didn’t actually go through my routine yet. So if you’re looking for some easy lying-down stuff, this is not for you. I want to do some dynamic poses. You can come along, and do as much as your body lets you do today.”

“Sounds good to me. I kind of want to distract myself right now.”

“I bet,” Sam hums and the feeling of uneasiness is back, “but remember, don’t force yourself into things you’re not ready for.”

*

Getting the hang of yoga is one thing, but getting the hang of Balthazar’s performance plans… Well, that’s another thing entirely.

They meet at the store on a Thursday.

“Since we only have a couple of free days left, I’d like to take this opportunity to snatch Castiel out for a class in performing arts,” Balthazar says, “actually, it’s a tour. We’re gonna go to a strip club, a burlesque show, and a circus, and you’re going to get whatever you can out of what you see today and utilize it.”

“Can I come?” Meg asks. “I could really use some new moves as well. After all, we’ll be performing together.”

“Sure, come along, if Eileen and Kevin promise to take care of the store,” Balthazar says.

“It’s inventory and order day,” Kevin sighs, “I would love nothing more than to do this shift.”

“Weirdo,” Balthazar quips.

“Thank you, fellow partisans,” Castiel says.

“Alright, so we’ve got the party starting at 6 pm, and we have catering arriving at noon. The bartender comes when she feels like it, apparently, and takes care of the liquor orders. Are we gonna make a hard tea drink for the party?” Meg asks.

_Can I?_ Eileen asks. _I feel like doing some chemistry._

_Of course_ , Castiel answers. _It’ll be your duty to make blends. Make as many as you like._

“So there’s that,” Meg continues, “in addition, we need to see how we’d best get our instruments in there. I guess someone will have to do the drive in the morning.”

“Then there’s Castiel’s wings,” Balthazar muses.

“His what?” Kevin asks.

“Don’t worry, they’ll fold,” Balthazar says, making a dismissive gesture with his hand, “but I think I’ll need every minute available to make them as stunning as I want.”

“What else, then? Food, check, drinks, check, entertainment, check. Boat, check and check. We’ll get all the people in there, no sweat,” Meg lists, “it’s a perfect spot. Of course, we’ll have to get there super early to get everything in order before the party starts. We need to build a stage and stuff.”

“What about fireworks?” Kevin asks.

“Yeah, there’s no 4th of July without fireworks,” Meg presses. “Even though, to be honest, it’s inconsiderate to our veterans with PTSD.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Balthazar says, shaking his head, “at my previous apartment, my neighbor was a veteran.”

“Yeah, but we spent one fourth of July with them,” Castiel reminisces.

“It was a good celebration. We had our windows closed and we watched The Beach.”

“Oh, I should watch that movie again,” Kevin says. “I wonder how much I’ll get angry this time.”

_You’re going astray,_ Eileen says.

“We need to go buy decorations,” Balthazar says. “Kevin, should I leave that to you? We’re all pretty much occupied with other activities.”

“If you’re referring to the strip club, I swear to-”

“No, I’m not,” Balthazar stops Kevin, “I’m talking about Castiel, who has to practice his performance and manage most of the stuff, and Meg, who deals with bartender stuff, and me, who handles the wings, and Eileen who now handles a signature drink.”

“Sure, I can go get decorations,” Kevin says, reluctantly.

“I have faith in you,” Castiel says, trying to add warmth to his words with a smile. Kevin still looks overwhelmed, but at least he has a determined frown on his face.

“Fair enough,” Balthazar says and checks his watch.

“Do we need to head out?” Castiel asks.

“Yes, please. Also, take notes. If you need a pen and a notebook, take them, for fuck’s sake. I need you to pay attention today.”

 

At first, Castiel’s not sure what he can gather from a strip show. The reason Balthazar chose this for  their first place is because during later hours, the booths would be full enough for them not to see clearly. Now, only a couple of daytime pedestrians had tumbled into the darkened rooms.

Strippers are, in Castiel’s books, some of the most intriguing and talented dancers there are. Using only a couple pieces of clothes, they have to seem interesting enough for people to want to pay them. To appear confident even when portraying the epitome of what’s considered “bad” among the conservatives… That’s definitely something Castiel could take a lesson or two from. After all, he’ll probably be upsetting many conservatives in a couple of days.

This burlesque club, of course, is also heavily relying on costumes. Since Balthazar is going to make Castiel wings (which still makes him feel both flattered and just plain weird) he is happy to see how people carry their elaborate outfits. Being perfectly in time with music, moving every piece of your body and outfit just-so, knowing when to crack a joke… Sure, Castiel could learn this — in years and years of practice. These people are professionals, and nothing in their performances hints otherwise. If he can fake even twenty percent of the confidence of a person who knows what they’re doing, Castiel will be perfectly fine.

Lastly, they visit a circus. It’s possibly the place that’s the most “off” about the trio Balthazar chose for them — Castiel can’t imagine himself doing any fancy tricks on stage. He wouldn’t need to, either, that he was pretty sure of; again, it was about relying on your talent and staying in character. Out of the few words he says to  Balthazar during the performances, he makes it known that _character_ is indeed what he’s expecting from Castiel.

“But I’m not sure what I’m able to do,” Castiel says, “I mean, if we practice choreography a bit, that I can get somewhat down… But I don’t know how to channel that confidence people have.”

“Then you have to find it somewhere,” Balthazar mutters, and pulls his lip between his teeth for a long while before continuing, “I mean. You managed to snatch that guy back. That’s gotta raise your self-value, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about James, of course. Don’t get me wrong, I still hate his guts and will kill him on sight, but,” Balthazar huffs and shrugs. It’s the most blessing Castiel is ever going to get out of Balthazar, so he squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

“Thank you, Baz,” he says. A fire eater blows out a giant flame just then, so they’re both pulled back into the act.

*

Castiel wakes up to his phone ringing, and that’s what makes him realize he’s fallen asleep in the first place.

He was awake with James most of the night, but when his counterpart stopped answering his messages somewhere after three in the morning, Castiel lay down on the couch and felt he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Now, the phone’s ringing. His personal one is on his chest, and the work one is violently vibrating on the bar table. With a groan, he gets up to answer a number he doesn’t recognize.

“Is this Castiel Novak?”

A male-sounding voice is at the end of the line. Castiel tries to place it, but fails.

“Yes, this is him,” he replies, “how may I help you?”

“This is a courtesy call.”

Castiel waits for the voice to continue.

“You’d better back off now.”

A sense of sudden, unsolicited, raw horror fills Castiel’s chest. Is this a wrong number? No, silly, the caller literally made sure it’s him they’re talking to.

Castiel breathes in through his nose, exhales through his mouth, and tries to keep his voice calm.

“What do you mean?”

“I said,” the voice says, and _damn_ , it sounds familiar, “back the fuck off. Winchesters don’t need the company of your kind.”

The call ends before Castiel can ask any specific questions.

What? What’s this about the Winchesters?

What kind of company was the voice talking about? The party planner kind? The acquaintance kind, or the possibly awkward friend kind?

A sense of dread spreads through Castiel as he realizes exactly what they meant. It’s the kind of company that Dean implied in that single look he gave Castiel on summer solstice night.

Castiel shudders. Well, it was obvious some people over at Winchester, Inc. wouldn’t like if Dean got too close with a man if they were to uphold their conservative image, but wouldn’t that be something they’d discuss with Dean himself?

It feels selfish and weird to even think like this, but the call probably wasn’t about Sam’s yoga class either.

 

During the day, Castiel distracts himself from the call by thinking about deserving. He thinks about the time he’s spent with James, and the time he’s spent with Dean. James, for his part, feels like coming home, and even though there are unresolved issues he needs to bring up, he feels comfortable around him. Of course, in the back of his mind he’s thinking about meeting him as well — but is that something he wants to go through at this stage? He can feel another relapse day not far off, and he truly, truly hopes it’s not on the 4th. Pushing his personal boundaries by force won’t do him any good, and an upcoming relapse implies he’s not ready to meet James yet.

But how long would James be willing to wait for him? He said basically forever, as long as Castiel would think about it.

Would he still lie about his name?

He can’t lie; the fact that his heart beats faster each time he thinks about Dean doesn’t exactly make him want to meet James right now. He can’t bring himself to think anything like _I should see where this goes with Dean first_ , because that all-consuming self-hatred and guilt is back instantly. How could he even think about wanting anyone else but James? James has never been anything but perfectly good and understanding, and Castiel hasn’t given him a proper shot at showing how much he actually cares.

But he doesn’t deserve either of these people, and he convinces himself he doesn’t want them, either.

No, what he really should do is to call his therapist, arrange a new appointment and deal with his head before meeting or planning a relationship with anyone.

And it’s not going to help if he doesn’t actually talk to him.

Grimacing, he picks up his phone and dials Dr. Redfield’s number. He answers immediately.

“This is Castiel Novak,” he starts, “Are you currently occupied?”

“Hello, Castiel. No, as a matter of fact, I’m just finishing my breakfast.”

Castiel glances at the clock. Half past two. Apparently, not even his therapist is a healthy sleeper.

“I was calling about the next appointment. I had to cancel the previous one, and we didn’t confirm a new one, and I only realized to call now that I need to talk about something.”

“Yes, that’s right. Usually, we’ve had appointments somewhere during the afternoon, and I’ve given you the time at the end of the previous appointment, right?”

“Right,” he states.

“Well, I have an opening right now, if you’re willing. Do you want to move this to Skype?”

“I don’t think so. I think I want to talk to you, but I think it’s better if you don’t see my face. I might get nervous.”

“Right, right. That’s alright. Okay, let’s take a seat and discuss these issues of yours.”

Castiel is briefly impressed about how fast Redfield’s tone moved from his acquaintance mode to his therapist one. He also wonders whether he has some standard answers written down on a notepad — sentences such as _right_ , or _do you want to elaborate on that,_ or _let’s talk about your issues for a while._

He steps out on the balcony, and takes a seat on the floor. Bees buzz around the flowers, the sun is shining; it’s an ideal day for anything to happen.

“Okay. What is troubling you today?”

Phone is easier than watching Dr. Redfield. It’s easier by a landslide.

“I have started to take on jobs and going to work and everything,” he starts. “ I’ve got my friends, and I’ve made some new ones, and this is both moving too fast and too slow. And here I am, in the meantime, unable to fully let go. What if something happens? What if nothing happens? What if I hate myself for each decision I make?”

“Alright, let’s first calm down a little,” Redfield says.

“I’m not agitated.”

“Let’s try to breathe a little.”

Castiel inhales slowly, holds his breath for a second or two, and exhales. He places his free hand on his diaphragm, feeling it rise and fall.

“Good, that’s it,” Redfield says. Castiel wants to tell him it’s not his doing — that everything he’s learned from breathing, he’s learned from Sam.

“Now, have we talked about percentages of attention yet?”

“No, I don’t think we have.”

“How much of your thoughts would you say are in the past? Things that have happened before, but no longer are happening?”

Castiel frowns, and leans forwards to grab a weed from the flowerpot under the trellis.

“Mm, it seems to be increasing. 50 percent, I bet.”

“How much of them are in the future? In the scenarios you form in your head when you make decisions? In the things that haven’t happened yet or might never even happen?”

By instinct, Castiel wants to say that the rest of his attention is in the future. Then, he remembers there’s those moments when he talks to someone — Dean, James, Sam, or some of his colleagues — and he’s perfectly in the now. When he’s watching Jane, he’s in the now. When he’s troubled by the orange fruits in his fridge, he’s in the now.

“Uh, 30 percent in the future.”

“And now, there’s 20 percent left for the now. Of course it depends on people how much time they spend daydreaming, or how much past occupies their mind, but the ideal situation should be somewhere in the sixty-twenty-twenty ratio. The majority of your time should be occupied by what’s happening right now. You can plan the future, and you can remember the past, but if you don’t live in the now, life’s going to pass you by.”

Castiel bites his lower lip and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what’s causing it, but for some reason, he feels like crying.

“Surely you don’t want that, either?”

“Of course not,” Castiel huffs, “who would want that?”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

_Me too,_ Castiel thinks.


	10. The Party Starter

_B: Castiel? Are you up?_

A message from Balthazar lights up the phone screen. Castiel turns his head towards the source of light in the dimly lit room and exhales. He opens his conversation with James without paying attention to Balthazar yet.

**S: James, I haven’t slept all night.**

**S: Have you slept all night?**

_J: No, I haven’t._

_J: ‘Twas a good night, though_

_J: I really like you, Steve._

Castiel scoffs, mostly to hide his blush.

**S: Are you sure? I don’t think you know me well enough yet to like me.**

_J: Don’t start that again, let me like you_

**S: Fine! Go ahead.**

_J: I_ will _go ahead, thank you very much._

**S: ...I might like back a little.**

Castiel lets his phone fall beside his bed. Before he can do much else, it rings.

“Hi, Balthazar,” he says and groans, “literally five minutes since your message. You can’t expect me to-”

“You were online, loverboy. Don’t think you can’t get away with that shit with me.”

“Shoot,” Castiel sighs, finally getting up to put the water kettle on. He’s in the mood for some self-blend. “You should contact my work phone instead.”

“Why are you pulling this today?”

“I don’t want to come to your rehearsal. Isn’t that obvious?”

“If you could hinder your negativity a bit, that’d be awesome. It’s July 2nd already.”

“I don’t want to do this, Baz.”

“Get here by noon. Ta-ta.”

The call ends before Castiel can complain. Hesitantly he dresses up, waters the flowers that seem to thrive despite his periodical negligence, and takes a seat on the table to drink his blend. It’s lavender, licorice, fennel, and peppermint today and he’s really feeling like he could use some chamomile too.

He and James had rekindled their gaming accounts last night, and it’s hard to believe so much time has passed. They immediately got back into their battle strategies, formations and healing, and got their newly-built characters into a flirty banter that alarmed Charlie, who was also present and unaware of them until then. It was weird how they worked so well as a trio before, and how Castiel had completely forgotten that until now. They ended up being up most of the night, Charlie calling it quits around five in the morning, after which Castiel and James stopped playing and ended in bed. They talked about music a bit, and about what they value in each other as friends, and what they value in their other friends, and when James talked about his little brother who was basically a brat, Castiel’s mind swung, for the first time, to Dean.

And how much Dean and James seem alike.

And how they, firmly, folded into a single person at that moment.

The moment, of course, passed soon, but it left Castiel both angry and frustratingly hot. Not in a horny way, but -- what if James is as stunning as Dean is? What if he could actually have both the looks and the attraction of Dean Winchester and the friendship and loyalty of James in a single person? Even now, sitting here, drinking his tea in the morning light, the thought of him returning to Dean after a day at work makes him giddy and blushing.

It passes again, of course.

On his way to see Balthazar and embarrass himself for good, he notices at least three more of his sunflowers are well on their way.

 

After the initial practice that’s more gestures than actual dance routines — which is fine, because Castiel _can’t freaking dance_ — they have a final meeting with their client, and for reasons unknown, only Sam is available. This time, Meg can’t make it and is replaced with Eileen. Upon greeting each other, Sam shifts to sign language fluently and it pleases all of the people present.

“So, how are we coming along? It’s the day after tomorrow, so I hope we’re fine,” Sam starts as they take seats around a table. He makes sure he’s seated so that Eileen can read his lips. Perhaps due to a stranger being so considerate towards her, Eileen blushes. Then again — she herself has made it known making these adjustments is common sense and not consideration. Either way, Castiel is pleased of the way Sam knows how to behave.

“We’re more than fine, thanks,” Balthazar says, if only a bit offended, “don’t you trust us?”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant to imply. It’s just that I need to be sure. There’s a lot at stake here.”

“And you don’t think I know that?”

“Please, Balthazar,” Castiel says calmly and turns to Sam, “we’ve been working hard on this, and that’s what’s getting on his nerves.”

“Don’t you talk for me,” Balthazar states grimly, but seems to ease off a bit. Sam is looking at them both with a hint of a smile before he sighs.

“I do trust you, of course. It’s Dean who struggles.”

Castiel places his hand over the pang he feels in his chest. Has he done something to make Dean think they’re not capable enough?

“Shouldn’t he be the one who’s here, then?” Eileen asks. Sam smiles at her, and she raises her chin defiantly. Are these people flirting?

“Yes, he should. He needed to take care of other things, though.”

“I could go see him,” Castiel hears escape his lips, “later today.”

Balthazar turns his whole posture to challenge Castiel now. He’s onto him, but Castiel’s not sure what there is to be on to — he’s genuinely worried about his customer’s satisfaction, and if he seems too eager, that’s just Balthazar reading way too much into this.

“Well, he’s home,” Sam says and clears his throat. “So unless you wanna go there, you’ve got to wait until tomorrow to meet him.”

“Oh, I bet he can do a home run,” Balthazar hums. Castiel tries to shoot visual daggers at him, but Balthazar refuses to meet his eyes anymore.

“Uh, sure, I guess. He didn’t forbid me to contact him, so I can at least ask,” Sam sighs and picks up his phone. While he’s distracted, Eileen turns to Castiel.

_What are you thinking about? Shouldn’t we just wait?_ She says.

_I need to know what’s troubling him. I cannot let all our work go to waste._

Eileen shrugs. _It’s not going to go to waste. He’s just doing something else._

_I fear something’s up. This should be the most important thing coming up this week. You heard Sam, it’s really crucial for us to nail this._

“I hope you can nail a speech or two with the older Winchester for sure,” Balthazar whispers, “you certainly didn’t nail the practice today.”

“You gave me two days to nail a freaking performance and you know I can’t dance,” Castiel hisses.

“We booked this gig in May! You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself.”

Sam glances up at them. He’s smiling, and it’s only barely nervous.

_Well don’t worry, it makes me just as nervous to dance than it makes you to think about me dancing,_ Castiel thinks.

Finally, Sam’s phone beeps to signal an answer from Dean. Sam reads it in silence, at least twice, before hesitantly looking up.

“He says it should be fine,” he tells Castiel and looks down at the phone once more. “But he seems to be in a foul mood.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Castiel nods. “Are you comfortable? Do you want to go over some details before I leave?”

“Well, just that if there’s anything I can do to help, I will,” Sam says, leaning back on his chair. “But apart from dancing, please. I’m not good.”

“Me neither,” Castiel sighs.

“I’m really good,” Balthazar informs them.

“Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ve got it mostly covered. If there’s need for an extra pair of hands while carrying over the equipment, we’ll let you know,” Castiel says. He digs up his work phone and sends Sam a link to their schedule — courtesy of Kevin’s magical calendar skills.

“You can see what we’re up to until the fourth right there,” he adds. “It should be a breeze.”

 

 

 

*

It does occur to Castiel once or twice that going to his client’s place on a regular weekday evening, while he could as well just wait until tomorrow, is both a bit shady and out of character for him. It doesn’t stop him from going, but it does make him think about whether this is further away, or closer to, the person he was before Bartholomew.

He shakes his head before stepping into the entryway of the eleven-story building Dean lives in. There’s around two dozen labels on the directory, and he presses the buzzer next to Winchester. It takes a moment before he hears the click of the front door being opened.

Now, he’s not much for architecture, but the building is clearly on the modern side; mostly glass and steel in that white-and-black design mostly seen in Scandinavian interior. There’s something in this he envies, but he also instantly craves the touch of old log cabins and stone arches from the early 20th century. He nears the elevator, wonders if he should be taking stairs instead, but feels lazy and heavy on his legs.

Using the information he got from Sam, he arrives on the top floor and knocks on the door on the left. It takes a while for Dean to come to the door, but when he does, he looks like he’s been waiting impatiently anyway.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, uh, yeah,” he says, giving him a lopsided smile. Castiel follows him inside and lets his eyes roam across the open concept loft apartment. Paintings, a fireplace right in the middle of the living room, a bar table which Castiel instantly wants to choose for his seat-

“You want something?”

He looks at Dean, who leans against the counter in the kitchenette corner. Brushed metal, dark granite countertops, matching appliances. It’s really overwhelming and worst of all, there’s no flowers. Castiel desperately wants to bring flowers into this stone-cold, interior-design magazine cover apartment.

And it’s probably what Dean loves about it. He most likely thinks of it as home.

“What do you have?”

“Whiskey, white, red, uh. Sparkling water.”

“Tea?”

“Sure,” he laughs, “if you can handle earl gray or the blend I bought from you.”

“Give me both, I’ll taste test a blend,” Castiel states and walks towards the wall-sized windows on the other end of the apartment. Dean follows him after putting the kettle on.

“How’s the view?” he asks. Absentmindedly, Castiel notices this is very much a scene from any romantic comedy when he should answer ‘what do you think?’ and Dean would stare at Castiel and say ‘never better’. But this is not a rom-com, or his beloved Jane The Virgin; this is a real, banal business interaction and it’s better that way, no matter how exhilarated Castiel’s thoughts had gotten back at home.

“It’s… A view of the city,” Castiel answers. “Meh.”

“Not a fan of the city?”

“Nothing wrong with it. I’ll level with you, Dean, it’s really a cliché.”

“What is? The view?”

Castiel gestures around the apartment. “All of this.”

Dean hums, frowning deep in private thought.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to insult you, but-”

“I agree, though,” he says. “I don’t think there’s a comfortable seat in the house.”

Castiel scoffs. “I bet there’s not. Although, I did see a comfortable seat on the way here.”

“In the lobby? There’s a couch I want to steal. Or I could sleep there. Would save me the elevator ride.”

“I have no idea what you’re on about. I was talking about the table.”

“The-”

“The bar table you’ve got there. It looks cozy. I’m a table sitter.”

Dean gestures towards the kitchen. “Oh, please, then. Be my guest.”

Castiel squints. “You don’t mean that, Dean.”

“Of course I do. Come on, let’s get that tea. We can sip it on the table.”

 

“So why did you choose this place if you don’t like it?”

Dean adjusts his crossed legs under him and sips the blend Castiel put in his mug. His expression gives nothing away, but this is far from Castiel’s best blend. He wants to blame the materials he had, but that seems petty.

“Initially, I just wanted a place that wasn’t my father’s. I took what was available and I have to admit, I thought it’d look good for me to have a place I could host little parties in.”

If there’s bitterness to Dean’s voice, Castiel knows he needs to pretend not to hear it. He mirrors Dean’s leg adjustment and sighs.

“I mean, it’s absolutely good for that,” he sighs then. “I just don’t think it’s a home, is all.”

“Oh,” Dean says, and the sigh he lets out is so heavy it sends shivers up Castiel’s spine. He’s upset Dean. He needs to change the subject to get him back in a good mood.

“I like the fireplace,” he says. “A good location for a fireplace.”

Dean smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He finishes the coffee and puts the mug aside.

“Is there a reason you’re here, Cas?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, feeling his face get hot. Wow, he’d absolutely forgotten about it for a while. That’s it. No more sappy soap marathons. They’re not good for his brain or his career. “I’m here because I heard you had trouble believing in us.”

Dean frowns. “Is that what Sam told you?”

“Well, that’s the gist of it.”

“Then he misunderstood me. I’m sorry you had to come here for this. It’s really not necessary for you to try to talk me over. I know you’ll do great.”

Castiel tilts his head, observing Dean’s face. “No, I’m here for a reason. I want to know what you’re thinking. I need to make absolutely sure you’re comfortable with our services.”

“I’m just not really feeling that excited at the moment. I don’t feel I want to celebrate with people that-”

“That what?”

Dean sighs. “It’s nothing.”

Castiel’s fingers twitch in an attempt to touch Dean, but he forces them into his fist instead. He needs to understand why Dean is upset. He _needs_ to — for his job, of course.

“Look at me, Dean, please.”

Dean obliges. His eyes are dull with emotions he can’t convey, and neither can Castiel.

“I don’t know why you’re feeling like this, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my past, it’s that not talking it out doesn’t help. Let me try to understand where this is coming from, alright?”

“You work for me. I shouldn’t bother-”

“You’re not bothering me. I wouldn’t have asked.”

Hesitantly, Dean unfolds his legs and gets off the table.

“It’s just soulless, you know? These people care about money, and sure, I’m the same as them — but it’s not like these people are important to me, or family, or anything. When I was younger, I always spent the 4th of July with family, and it was a celebration of being together. Now, there’s the same faces year after year after year, but all they care about is whether this is the year you’ll sink instead of swim, and they’ll jump ships immediately when you do.”

“I understand,” Castiel says.

Dean looks at him, opens his mouth, but says nothing. He walks back to the window, and when he does, Castiel’s gaze slides to the mantle of the fireplace. There’s a wristwatch laying on top of it — and although first Castiel just thinks he’s seen it on Dean before and that’s the reason it looks familiar, it nags at him.

James.

It’s James’ watch. Castiel’s ears start ringing and he can feel the easiness of his mood fade fast. He replays the conversation in his head, and tries to hear this coming from James, and then Dean again, and he thinks of James Dean, and then The Night.

And how James and Dean both blended together into one.

He gets up from the table and inhales to speak. Nothing comes out.

Dean’s phone rings and he turns to look at Castiel apologetically. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

Turning his back once more, Dean starts talking. He uses a low voice, obviously trying to keep a business call as private as possible. Castiel looks at the door behind him, but before his brain fully acknowledges the thought of leaving the apartment, he picks up his phone instead. Without taking his eyes off Dean, he picks James’ number and calls him.

He hears the dial tone. Once, twice, three, four times. Not the busy signal. The dial tone.

The line clicks, and Castiel’s definitely not ready to talk with James, and he hangs up. He’d have to explain this one to James, but at least his doubts vanish. He’s making things up.

*

“And you are not going to believe this. I called him. I actually freaking called James to know whether he’s this guy.”

Charlie laughs heartily. She throws her head back and lifts her hands on her face.

“You’re out of it,” she hums. “Bet you thought you had it all figured out.”

Castiel leans back against the balcony wall and sighs. He props the tablet up against a flower pot and tries to fix his hair that’s a mess.

“I did! Luckily, James didn’t hold me accountable for the phone call I made. He shrugged it off. Damn, they’d both been working their way into my heart simultaneously, and I thought I could just skip the phase of deciding.”

Charlie’s smile widens. “Ooh, your heart, hmm? What’s that mean?”

He tries to form the words for a while before answering. “Well, of course, it makes me extremely glad to have James back. Not that we’ve ventured beyond any lines of friendship, except for casual flirting… But I’m really glad to have him as a friend. Then, there’s this man who’s basically a stranger to me and it feels like everything about him is inviting me closer. His looks, his gestures, his personality — the little I do know about him…”

Some bees take flight from a flower next to Castiel. He watches them go.

“And I don’t know, he seems like he wants to orbit closer to me, too. The way he looks at me, or moves in my proximity. You know — his gaze lingers, and his body language is open and warm. It’s not for everyone, but it sure is there for me. Everything about him, except for his actual words, are inviting me in.”

“And you’re getting the words from James.”

Charlie is trying to make eye contact with Castiel, of course failing slightly due to the whole Skype thing. Castiel briefly decides that they should meet soon.

“Exactly. Maybe that’s why… Maybe that’s why I wanted them to be a single person.”

“Well, however this pans out, I’ll be here to watch you fail in love and pick up your remains from the ground,” she grins.

“That’s the worst thing. I’m not ready for anything like that. I know I’m not. I don’t need to put myself back into a situation where I have to answer to someone.”

Charlie’s expression darkens momentarily, but she brushes it off fast.

“Well, you know what’s best for you.”

He smiles. “I can’t believe we never talked before.”

“We talked alright. We talked a lot in the server.”

“But to see your face and hear your voice, it’s nice.”

“I agree,” Charlie says, basically beaming.

“You don’t happen to be coming to the party tonight?”

“Nope, sorry. I freelance. Won’t feed your capitalist Fortune 500 parties.”

“Thanks for the encouragement, sister.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Let’s do this again, brother.”

The call ends and Castiel sighs. He was trying to undertake another study in double-exposure, and suggested a morning call with Charlie to ease his nerves about the evening — but now he misses a friend he never thought he had and is still equally nervous.

And tonight is about confidence.

He picks up the phone and sends James a message.

**S: I’m so nervous. There’s a party coming up tonight that I need to be a part of and I fear I’ll ruin it.**

_J: I’m gonna be at a party too_

_J: Want peer support?_

_J: All I can offer are lame observations of people that are less important than you_

**S: Hey, James?**

_J: Yes?_

**S: I am nervous when you flirt with me right now. I mean… It’s overwhelming at the moment  and I need you as a friend and I don’t know if I’ll be able to focus on that if all I get from you is snarky flirts.**

_J: Alright_

_J: Sorry._

_J: What can I do ya for?_

**S: Well, stories are always nice, but we can actually talk about the party at hand a bit. Let’s say I’m at a party, lighting up fireworks. What if I mess up the fireworks? I need to be punctual, smooth when I move, and pay attention to detail. What if I light up the wrong ones first? What if I can’t accelerate towards the end? What if it falls flat?**

**S: It’s confidence I’m lacking.**

_J: Makes sense. So generally speaking, you’ve got a situation where eyes are gonna be on you and you need reassurance that you can do this._

_J: Have you practiced fireworks?_

**S: Not nearly as much as I would’ve liked. Somehow the months just passed by.**

_J: Well, I ain’t a magician or anything, but it’s all about how you portray or carry yourself or whatever, right?_

_J: So even if you don’t really have what it takes, or you think you don’t, you can just hold your head up high and pretend it’s all going according to plan_

**S: Yes, I know I should… But how do I achieve that kind of status? I am still getting over the feeling of inadequacy.**

_J: I know you are. Let’s see what we can do about that_

_J: I think most people just fake it until they make it_

**S: I’m not good at faking, I’ll have you know, so I can’t tap into the advice.**

_J: Alright this probably has nothing to do with the feeling you have right now, but remember in that scene of Jane The Virgin where she needed to promote her new book_

_J: And she was so sad_

_J: And she didn’t want to_

**S: James, how the fuck are you that far along in the series? I literally just got there myself and - Okay, never mind. Go on.**

_J: You just got there?_

_J: How little do you actually watch series?_

_J: I binged season 2 in two days honey_

**S: Oh I do binge, I binge seasons 1-2 repeatedly. Anyway, you were saying something.**

_J: Yes._

_J: I was saying that when she’s hesitating, his love comes around to push her through because she needs to do the thing._

_J: She needs it but she lacks the courage._

**S: Yeah, I remember. I get what you mean. I should just do it?**

_J: Steve, if you don’t do this, you’re gonna regret it. Just fucking gather the courage from wherever you think necessary, and I will be here if you fall, but for now, just fucking go and make me proud, okay?_

_J: I don’t need you second guessing yourself right now because you’re what makes my days complete and you really want to do this_

_J: And I’ll be damned if you give up_

_J: That good enough for an adaptation of Rafael, you think?_

Castiel has to lower his phone for a moment because he’s feeling emotionally overwhelmed. Embarrassment, nervousness, happiness, and confidence all roam through his veins and he doesn’t know which to grab onto first.

**S: Thanks, James. You don’t know how much you’ve helped me.**

_J: No problem. Stop holding your breath (I know you are) and show them how fireworks work._

*

The day is mostly a mess.

 

Castiel tries to build up confidence. James believes in him. Dean believes in him, too. Charlie believes in him. He doesn’t want to let those people down.

But he knows the person he, first and foremost, needs to please is himself. He’s a tough customer to say the least, but if he can be happy with tonight’s performance… It will serve him well in the future. James sends him some encouraging messages during the morning and he feels his presence, unlike many times before.

They arrive at the dock where Ellen and Meg already buzz around the boat. Apparently the clean-up from the previous client’s party last night left something to be desired and they’re starting with that, but they seem to be in a good mood anyway.

Kevin outdid himself with the decorations. There are classy whites and blues and reds, but instead of demanding, bright primaries, they’re muted — tablecloths match the curtains and light-up centerpieces match the flowers. They’ll look impressive when they’re up.

He helps with carrying the instruments in, and then walks through the small stage set between pillars on the front of the lower deck. It seems simple enough, charismatic, and there’s room for people to eat while they watch the performance. He’s pretty sure the clients of Winchester, Inc., are waiting for a bowtie-esque performance of modern hits with a swingy twist, but they won’t be getting that.

“How’s it look?” Balthazar asks from behind him.

“I think I can own a stage this big,” he answers and turns around on the center.

“Well, sure you could. You’re charismatic as fuck. But the final act is not going to take place here.”

“No? What do you mean?”

“Follow me,” Balthazar says and starts towards the stairs. With a sigh, Castiel reminds himself to keep breathing and walks after him.

They arrive up on the top deck, and Balthazar casually leans against the railing at the front. The boat is docked for now, but Castiel can very well imagine how awesome it’s going to look out at sea. It seems to be a clear day ahead, and that’s really helpful — if all of the people were forced to stay indoors at all times, they would suffocate fast.

“So, I’m thinking fireworks here. Apparently, we’re not allowed to set off our own fireworks from the deck, but a representative from the boating company is happy to come to our aid. We have to feed him, of course, but that’s beside the point.”

“Yes, well, thank you for taking care of that. So, your plan is for me to sing up here?”

“Well, obviously. Fireworks going off, you flaunting your wings, National Anthem playing in the background…” Balthazar trails off. Castiel feels a pang of panic, but doesn’t have time for that, because they’re getting company.

Dean Winchester surfaces from the staircase and offers them both a charming smile. Castiel’s breath catches in his throat and he doesn’t even know why — nothing’s changed since last time, right? No reason to swoon.

“Hello. How are things coming along up here?” he asks. Balthazar gives him a long once-over, as if he, too, is trying to determine what exactly has changed.

“We’re swell. Just planning some last minute alterations.”

Dean nods, understanding. “Cas, you busy?”

Castiel gazes over at Balthazar, who shrugs. “Uh, I don’t think I am.”

“In that case, can I steal you away for a second? I haven’t eaten yet and I’d like to talk to the team captain before the preparations get too hectic.”

“Sure. Let’s have something to eat,” Castiel says and answers the smile crossing Dean’s features with his own. _Damn_ , he’s inviting.

 

“Is everything alright? Why did you want to see me?”

“Let’s get something to eat, and I’ll explain. I’ll have you know it’s nothing serious, though. I just want to clear a couple of things up.”

“Sure,” Castiel says. They don’t speak more until they reach a summer cafe which is, by all standards, cozy and inviting. Sunshades flap in the gentle sea breeze, hovering over round tables decked in red-and-white checkered tablecloths. Even though Dean hasn’t, by his own admission, eaten anything today, he orders a grand serving of waffles with ice cream, wild berries and maple syrup. Instantly getting food envy, Castiel gets the same, and they take seats on one of the tables with a good view to the sea.

“Happy Fourth of July, for starters,” Dean hums, meeting Castiel’s eyes across the table.

“Happy Fourth of July,” Castiel echoes. He watches a piece of the first waffle meet Dean’s lips and enter his mouth, and he swears he’s never been this interested in anyone’s eating. _What’s going on_? Is it about the conversation he had with Charlie earlier?

Then he realizes Charlie is the first person to know about Dean and about how inviting he feels to Castiel. It’s like sharing the feelings you have makes them more… palpable, more concrete. It made all those silly daydreams about coming home to a man like Dean Winchester almost within reach and that breaks Castiel’s heart a little — because it’s an illusion.

Dean is looking at him with a wry smile on his face. Castiel frowns and concentrates on his plate.

“What’s up?”

“Isn’t that what you should be telling me? I gathered you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, well. I wanted to apologize.”

“About what?”

“About the other night. I think I stepped over some serious business boundaries when I started telling you sob stories about not being grateful for the clients we have.”

Castiel frowns. “I thought after the initial casual chatting around solstice and, you know, picking flowers together, we kind of stepped over those boundaries already. I consider us friends, Dean.”

_For now,_ his brain helpfully adds and he rolls his eyes internally.

“You do? I mean. Uh. Sure, I guess,” Dean mutters, stabbing his waffles exaggeratedly. Castiel considers his reaction in silence.

“Anyway, I don’t think you stepped over any lines. I asked you, and you talked. I’m glad you did. Now I know you a little better, and I also know it wasn’t anything we did that caused you to have second thoughts about this party.”

“Yeah, and it’s not like I can take it back now anyway,” Dean laughs. He glances up at Castiel and holds his gaze for a while.

“Would you like to?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you like to pretend that never happened?”

“…Nah. I don’t think so. I just want you to know that I don’t hate it all the time. I’m in no way a poor soul stuck in the profession.”

“I never implied you were,” Castiel says. He concentrates on his waffles again.

 

They finish their sloppy excuse for an early dinner in silence, flush it down with bitter coffee and start heading back.

“Is there anything I can do today?” Dean asks as they walk among the docks.

“Not that I can think of, no,” Castiel answers. “Of course, you can put on some music, and at some point before the catering arrives, order backup pizza.”

Dean laughs, and that’s when Castiel realizes something else that’s changed; Dean, for some reason, is somehow more at ease with himself. Like years of stress have been lifted off his shoulders, and all that’s left is cotton candy.

He can’t help it — he has to know why.

“Can I ask you something, Dean?”

“Of course.”

“This is me asking as a friend, not me asking as your cooperative unit. Has something happened?”

“What?”

“You seem… Calmer. Happier.”

“Oh,” Dean says, “I don’t know.”

A smile crossing his face, though, implies he knows _exactly_ what’s going on. Castiel is unnerved by it, and then he reprimands himself for realizing he’s jealous, because Dean looks exactly like a person in love does.

“I won’t ask again,” he says solemnly. They reach the boat, and Dean faces him.

“I hope tonight will be awesome. Sorry, pal, let me just,” he says and before Castiel can fully realize what’s going on, Dean lifts his hand and slides his finger across Castiel’s jaw.

What?

_What_?

What?

_Oh_ , he thinks to himself when Dean wipes his hand on his jeans. Ice cream. He was just wiping off ice cream.

 

*

Do people wipe ice cream off each other’s face?

For fun?

_Pal_?

Castiel groans and tucks on the tablecloth. It’s perfectly straight, unlike his thoughts right now. The guests are just around the corner, the captain is ready to set sail, and their equipment has found its rightful place on the stage. It’ll be a bit longer before they’d start playing — first, the microphone would be used for a welcome speech, and after that the first course of food would arrive.

He sighs and takes his phone from his pocket. James has been present all day, and Castiel really hopes it will stay that way.

_J: Are you remembering to breathe?_

**S: Barely. I’m sorry I’m taking up so much of your time.**

_J: It’s fine_

_J: I’m bored_

_J: Should we go play online?_

**S: I wish I was playing with you instead. For now, I have to look presentable and interact with strangers.**

_J: Isn’t that the spirit of 4th of July?_

_J: I have to do the same._

_J: Do you even have eye candy in there?_

**S: I am a professional, James.**

_J: Professional eye candy hunter?_

**S: A professional firework lighter. I can’t be distracted with candy of any sorts.**

_J: I’m currently having fudge_

_J: Am I no longer eligible for lighting up fireworks?_

**S: No, you’re not.**

_J: Bummer._

“The catering is here, the bartender is here, the background music playlist is set, the instruments are plugged in and tested, fireworks are ready whenever,” Meg lists. “Seats are in order, we’re ready to start this off.”

“Meg, I am so grateful,” Castiel says, turning to face her fully. “You have been phenomenal. All of you have.”

“It’s what we do for a living,” Meg shrugs.

“I mean it. It means the world to me to have you as my colleagues. You really pulled through when I was too far gone, and even now that my abilities are still compromised, you’ve shown incredible flexibility.”

Meg gives Castiel a stern look. “Where’s this bull coming from? Are you dying?”

He laughs. “No, I’m not dying. I’m just grateful. The party looks fantastic.”

“I agree,” Kevin says, appearing from somewhere behind them. “Everything is ready.”

“And not a minute too soon. Let’s do this.”

Castiel nods and puts his phone back in his pocket. He’s currently wearing an ensemble consisting mostly of his finer safety armor clothes: a black suede jacket with zippers and a couple of tasteful ribbons around the right sleeve, dark denim jeans and oxford shoes. His wrists are full of bracelets, and there are rings on his fingers. According to Balthazar’s instructions, he also put on a tie — although he, himself, thought it was a pointless addition since only the knot was visible.

He makes a final round across the lower and upper decks, introduces himself to the bartender and her helping hands, and talks to Gilda a bit. Sam prances around the lower deck, seemingly nervous, so Castiel decides to talk to him next.

“Hello there! Are you in need of a friend or a party planner?”

“A friend would be nice, please,” Sam says, forcing half a grin on his face. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous tonight.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but for me, three hundred people on a single boat sounds like a safety hazard.”

Sam laughs. “I didn’t think of that… Yet. Thanks, I guess.”

“You can always count on the sweet relief of death if nothing else is going your way,” Castiel says and winks.

“I guess I’m just afraid I’ll fail to present the company in a good light. These are some of the biggest clients we have, and some of them we’ve never met. They’ve been around since our father was in charge and if we’re seen as immature or unprofessional, we can kiss many million-dollar deals goodbye after tonight.”

Castiel nods and sighs. Now, he’s worried too. Damn Balthazar’s need to flaunt.

“I bet you can get away with a little immaturity, though. From what I’ve gathered, you saved the company after your father passed.”

“Well, that’s true, of course,” Sam says, a frown of concentration forming on his face, “that should count for something. I guess we’ve done something right, at least.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever done anything but right.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. However, there’s no time for that now,” he says, gesturing towards the front door with his head. Dean, wherever he’s been, is back. He walks over to them and tries to read Sam’s expression.

If there’s something that shouldn’t see daylight behind the curtains of Winchester, Inc., tonight is not about revealing that. Castiel is determined to keep everyone in a good mood.

“Everything in order here?” Dean asks. Sam nods swiftly.

“Sure. You?” Castiel says. “Anything coming to mind that you two need before the party starts?”

“I heard Eileen’s made some tea-based drinks,” Sam says, “I would love some.”

Castiel nods and heads towards the bartender again. Now, if he can just keep clear from business-related drama, he’ll be fine.


	11. The Fallen Angel

Three hundred people on a single boat is hard enough on its own, but during the first two hours Castiel starts to regret introducing alcohol to the combination. After the first course of food and drinks all around, people start getting louder. They’re generally happier, too — which, of course, is a good thing — but some of the clients drink more than others, and it’ll end in disaster soon enough.

So after a while, Castiel goes to meet the bartender. Ruby, as he recalls, is wearing a smirk that implies she’s well aware of the effect of her products. The people she works with mostly clean the glasses and bottles behind the bar, but for the time being, she herself is sitting on top of it.

“Hello, Castiel,” she says, “care for a glass?”

“Uh. No, no thanks. It’s still a while to the performance and believe you me, I will need those drinks then.”

Ruby nods. “It’s not like you’d have to pay for them, but never mind then. Is everything alright?”

“You tell me. Are there people you’re concerned of? Is someone getting way past their limit with alcohol?”

Dean is standing a bit further away, leaning casually on a pillar, talking to someone. Their eyes meet across the room and Dean smiles. Castiel instantly gets a bit flustered, but manages to return the smile nonetheless. As he turns back to face Ruby, he still feels Dean’s eyes on him.

“I guess some people are drinking more than others, and some people have a need for whiskey while others stick to beer. What’s there to it? Do I need to do something about that, captain?”

“I think you could pay attention to those individuals, if that’s okay. If that’s too much trouble and takes your attention away from your work, you can just lessen the amount of liquor from two fingers to one. That sound good?”

Ruby nods and smirks. “Although, they might give you better Yelp reviews when they’re hammered.”

“Hammered reviews are forced reviews. We want nothing of the sort.”

“Look at you, taking the moral high ground with me. No matter. I can deal with the couple of old bastards for now. I’ll let you know if something changes.

“Great. Uh, and,” Castiel hesitates before continuing, “make sure Dean Winchester gets to taste our tea blend tonight.”

Ruby lifts her eyebrows in a gesture that says nothing about the situation is lost on her. Castiel scoffs and turns away, sliding his gaze across the tables filled to the brim with various treats and mild alcohol drinks to go with the food. People are chattering all around him, and everyone seems to have the most important opinion of the evening. It’s a bit pretentious — but then again, it’s all relative. For some of these people Castiel could seem pretentious, and since that’s not a thing he wants to be called, he should keep the condescending observations to a minimum.

There’s something he can’t help thinking: this is exactly the type of party Bartholomew would have enjoyed. Before he can think further on it, though, Kevin pulls him aside.

It’s time for the first performance of the evening.

 

They chose songs that are both easily recognizable, and ones that Castiel can use to get some of the same edge the Winchesters were looking for when they first hired them. His nerves seem to get the best of him — they’re doing the Imagine Dragons mash-up of Blank Space/Stand By Me and his voice falters more often than it doesn’t. He’s lucky to have someone like Meg in the team; she reads him like an open book and joins singing to balance out some of Castiel’s nervousness.

He recalls the last time they performed like this, and how he met Dean right before, just after James left him feeling defeated. Things have changed so much since then. Even without looking, he can feel Dean’s eyes on him, and while he feels flustered about the intensity of his attention, it also pumps some confidence into his system. Towards the end of the first song, he’s already feeling courageous enough to take a solo song next.

He chooses a popular pop song from a couple of years back, and even though it’s beyond his vocal range, he can make alterations on-the-go. It’s far from the peak of his performance back at the bachelor party, since he’s now got less equipment for arrangements, but it’ll do — especially when he sees that Dean’s got his eyes fixed on him. When their gazes meet somewhere around the first chorus of the song, Dean lifts his stange glass that’s obviously filled with their tea specialty. Castiel smiles in return.

No matter how much Castiel wants to deny it, he knows he’s royally screwed. There’s the calm constant in his life that only James can bring, but he can’t help the butterflies that somersault in his stomach whenever he locks eyes with Dean for more than two seconds. It’s so weird to have such a difference between what he wants and what his heart wants.

And his heart is screaming.

Dean is distracted by some colleagues or clients every now and then, but he never leaves Castiel’s line of sight. His eyes dance over Castiel’s face, his clothes, on the bracelets he’s wearing -- and it feels like caress. Slowly, he makes his way closer and closer until he’s sitting on the second seat of the table in front of them. He talks to a man that looks vaguely familiar, and as the song finally comes to a close, Meg presses her hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“What’s up with Winchester?” she whispers. Balthazar immediately catches up and starts playing a drumbeat that drowns out any sound, giving them a short time window of privacy.

“What do you mean?”

Meg gives him a stern look. “You’re blushing, dumbass. You know exactly what I mean.”

“Oh, well. It was worth a try.”

“Are you involved with him?”

“No, I’m not.”

“That’s not what your face says.”

“Meg, stop it.”

“If you tell me what’s going on.”

“No, I’m not involved with him. I think he’s flirting with me, is all.”

“Well then! Are you flirting back?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

There’s no time to explain what exactly he’s feeling right now, so he just shrugs. Meg takes it as a yes, and goes back to her soundboard for a while. When she puts on the next song Castiel immediately recognizes it; they’ve played it before, during a summer gathering on an island where a surprise marriage also took place. It had been the bride-to-be’s special request, and it’d taken them forever to master.

It’s a flirty song, for one. The woman had chosen it to describe her physical attraction to the girl she was dating. If arranged differently, it would probably have been outright filthy — but the band had made it sound like pleasant brain waves. They could’ve been singing about fried chicken and Castiel would still have been wooed.

But.

The song’s about freckles.A variety of things as well, of course, but mostly importantly freckles. Castiel knows that if performs this song, Dean will definitely consider it an invitation.

So, he can’t.

Then again, the song’s already playing.

*

When they end their setlist after around twelve songs the time is close to eleven, and Castiel’s in desperate need of a drink.

He feels touched. Physically touched to the bone. He was unable to look straight at Dean during most of the songs, since after the song Meg chose everything started to sound like a direct message from Castiel to Dean. That doesn’t mean he didn’t feel his eyes on him, though. He feels positively ravished, admired, and for some reason, brave. He’s ready to take the final act head-on.

Before that, he meets Ruby again.

“I refused to serve a jerk, he got pissed. That’s pretty much all that’s going on,” she says with a lopsided shrug, and sets off to bring Castiel their blend.

“You did what was right. If he won’t behave, he’ll be thrown out. There’s enough security to remove him by force if necessary.”

“Why’s it always men that bring trouble?”

Castiel scoffs. “Well, if I were someone else, I’d tell you not to generalize. You know, not all men and all that. But between you and me? I think it’s the alpha male thing. They need to prove they’re the ones with the most of whatever: that they’re the richest, the hottest, have the biggest dicks, you know the drill.”

Ruby shivers. “Oh, ew. I’m sorry you have to hunt from that pool of assholes.”

“What?”

“Sorry you’re into dudes, my man,” she smiles and hands him the glass.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think the assholes are different when they ‘play for the team’, pardon the expression. They do need to have certain qualities for me to even look at them twice, that’s for sure,” Castiel says, immediately finding Dean across the room by instinct, “anyway. Who gossiped?”

“About you being a gay? Nah, nobody. Takes one to know one. Queer as fuck, right here. How’d you think Meg would know me if I wasn’t?”

Castiel snorts a bit. “Got me there. Now, point me to the general direction of the jerk who was drinking too much.”

“Last I saw him, he went up. Be careful, though. Don’t want to dive head-first to pick you out of the ocean.”

Castiel nods and takes his glass upstairs. People are taking advantage of the outdoor environment to smoke what mostly seem to be thick Cuban cigars, and many seem to be hooking up already, as well. What is it with these parties? Shouldn’t it be about making new acquaintances and having a good time?

Then again…

If this was a different scenario -- if there were no James in his life, and he was stronger and more complete as a person -- he would probably be hooking up with Dean. So he’s possibly a bit jealous of those who are free to do so.

It’s not hard for him to locate the perpetrator he seeks. An older man is standing at a table with a woman that seems around the same age, and while she doesn’t seem particularly troubled at the moment, Castiel does recognize the distress in her body language.

A memory hits him so fast he doesn’t have time to dodge it.

It wasn’t the same night Castiel had remembered earlier; this one was from a wedding. They had been invited by the bride, someone Bartholomew knew well. They were wearing suits, and it was an important social gathering that also served as some sort of a client scouting. Much like in here, alcohol was served freely, and as they got more in their system Bart started to judge people. First, he pointed Castiel towards one of the bridesmaids, who was looking bored at the man in her company a couple of tables over.

“What do you think that’s about?”

Castiel shrugged. “No idea. I think he’s trying to hit on her and she’s not interested.”

“No, that’s not it. I think she’s just playing hard to get.”

“Hm?”

“She’s dressed like a slut, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t dress like that if you weren’t looking to fuck.”

As Castiel looked at the woman, she gestured for the man to leave. He didn’t. Castiel wanted to say that people were entitled to dress how they liked, and it’s had no relation to how much they wanted to be hit on, let alone how much they should endure being stared at, or touched against their consent.

Instead, he wanted to stay on Bartholomew’s good side. The man had been feeling down lately, and the last thing he needed was his boyfriend to start second guessing his thoughts. It didn’t make him voice any agreement, though, because that would’ve been lying.

“That’s one of the reasons I prefer the company of males,” Bartholomew continued, “most males don’t flaunt their stuff.”

“Some do, though,” Castiel said. “I’ve seen men who value their looks from their hair to their shoes over anything in the world.”

“Well, in that case I’m glad I’m not with one of them,” Bart said, and took Castiel by his waist, giving him a kiss on the ear that sounded too loud so close, “you’re so modest with how you look. You don’t like to overdo it. You’re not so shallow.”

At that point Castiel had taken it as a compliment, but the next morning he remembered the words as he was putting on the bead bracelets, and decided against them from that point on.

How manipulative of Bartholomew. And Castiel hadn’t even realized it.

He would’ve felt bad about getting lost in memories at the expense of the current situation at hand — but he’d been right, the woman harassed by the heavy drinker has already had enough and left the deck. The man is smoking a cigarette now, and since it seems he’s currently not looking for trouble, Castiel leans against the railing and sighs.

*

It’s here that Dean finds him. He’s carrying two stange glasses and without a word, Castiel reaches for the other one. As he takes his first sip, he realizes he’s not sure this was meant for him in the first place.

Dean clears his throat. There’s something in his expression that hints that everything’s changed from this afternoon. Maybe it was the song, or maybe it was the touch, or maybe this had been building for a while. Castiel slowly realizes he’s in no position to turn back now, and it’s not that Dean has put him in this spot. He’s built this trap himself.

Such a beautiful trap.

However, for the time being, they’re still dancing around each other.

“Uh,” Dean starts, “I really, really like this tea thing.”

“You may thank Eileen for that. She’s my tea gal.”

“Well,” he laughs. “I will. Although from what I’ve gathered tonight, my brother seems to be into thanking her for everything anyway.”

“It was not just me, then. I did see Eileen get weird around Sam but I thought it was just out of politeness.”

“Well, that too, I guess, but Sam’s already gone. He’s got it bad.”

“It’s the environment,” Castiel says. Echoes of past parties immediately reverberate through his head, and he forces them out with a swift shake.

“What’s that?”

“Over the course of the evening, I’ve noticed this environment works as an aphrodisiac. People are desperate to hook up.”

_Quite like myself_ , he thinks.

Dean contemplates this for a while, then shakes his head.

“No.”

“What?”

“No, I’m not buying that.”

Castiel lifts his eyebrows. Dean meets his gaze with half a smile.

“Look, okay. I’ll give you that maybe, just maybe, people are more likely to hook up here, because this is not a place for work, ya know? This is a place to meet people outside of the working environment, where you gotta always look your best and you’re being judged by your actions.”

“Before you proceed, Mr. Winchester: if you think nobody’s going to be judged at work after tonight, you’re living in a utopia. I, for one, am totally judging people here.”

Dean gasps. “How dare you! I’ve hired you for good money and here you are, judging my colleagues.”

Castiel hums. “Yes. So whatever you’re going to say, you should remember that. Go on.”

“Alright, whether they’re judged later or not, these people can now actually let go of their restrictions and social facades a little. They’re free to act as individuals instead of merely workers. People like us don’t have that many opportunities to do so.”

“Didn’t you also tell me that this is an important social gathering for possible new recruits and clients?”

“Well, yes. But the drunker people get, the more they enjoy themselves, and the more they enjoy themselves, the more they admire us.”

“That guy has been enjoying too much, though,” Castiel says, nodding towards the perpetrator from earlier. He’d just wobbled into their line of sight.

“Hmm, that might be. I personally know him, though, so if there’s trouble, just holla at me.”

“I’m ‘hollaing’ now, Dean,” Castiel presses, emphasizing with air quotes. “’Please’ get rid of him ‘before’ he starts ‘harassing’ people again.”

“Who’d he harass? Do I need to sue?”

“A woman, uh… She left already. She seemed capable of handling herself without your chivalry. Or mine, for the matter.”

“That’s great. You can point me in her direction too, if possible, and I can see that she’s truly alright. Maybe offer her this tea.”

“Oh, flirting your way through the scene? That’s nice. Real professional.”

Dean opens his mouth only to close it again. His eyes light up as a smile crosses his features, and for a moment, he ducks his head. Castiel tilts his own, wondering.

“There’s so much in that single sentence, Castiel, I don’t know where to start. First, you’re implying that I’m flirting through tea, and since I just brought you tea, you’re saying I’m flirting with you. More than that, it also implies you flirted with me earlier when you asked Ruby to bring me this tea.”

With every word that exits Dean’s mouth, Castiel feels himself sink a little deeper into a shame-filled blush. Alright, as he’d already thought, this has been coming for a while now — but for Dean to be both so observant and so blunt about it… It’s refreshingly exhilarating.

“I’m letting you have this one, Dean,” Castiel says, his tone strained to keep his enthusiasm to a minimum, “but don’t push it.”

Dean is absolutely beaming now. He quickly glances at Castiel’s lips, but then turns his gaze to the view of the sea.

“I was really pleased with your performance. You all worked really hard for this, and I’m glad I was here to see you all thrive. Of course, the Star-Spangled Banner remains to be heard.”

Castiel sighs The thought of the anthem alone is enough to make him nervous now. Of course, he could ask Dean whether the performance they’re about to give is too much, but that would ruin the surprise -- or get them refused.

“Actually, could I ask you something? Do you think… Do you think our performance was what you were expecting? Would you have wanted us to be… More or less unconventional?”

“I think you were an absolute pleasure to look at. Of course, I don’t think some of these people are smart enough to read into the lyrics that much, and won’t be bothered or shocked by the messages in the songs. I love some of the interaction between you and Meg, you seem to have a nice time, too — and you did get into that deeper end during some of the songs. Even so, I think you could’ve shocked them more. Not that I’m complaining, but at least everything’s been going according to somewhat traditional customs up until now.”

“Well-”

Before Castiel can form a sentence, Balthazar appears at the top of the staircase and makes a beeline towards them.

“Here you are. Look, we need to get… It’s getting closer to midnight. We should go get you changed.”

Castiel sighs again, hesitant to look away from Dean’s eyes. What a proper green. Like the spring.

Something inside him also worries that Dean might get so angry about the upcoming performance he won’t ever talk to Castiel again. Maybe it’s the reason he briefly places his hand on Dean’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze before leaving.

*

Castiel’s wearing a sleeveless jumpsuit made of what seems to be flowing silver glitter.

He’s got lustre on his face and his hair is glued into a very 1920s wave with more of it.

He’s wearing 90 percent of all his bracelets and rings, because he’s going to need all the support from his personal armor.

Balthazar’s carefully constructed wings are folded behind him, ready to be spread at the right time by using the ornamental pull chain currently squeezed in his fist.

He’s ready to sing the National Anthem.

Balthazar steps back and gives him a once-over.

“I think we’re ready. Alright, you need to start singing whenever I give you the sign, okay? That’s how we’ll time perfectly with the fireworks at midnight. Some will be lit from the beach a bit further away, and some from the rear of the ship.”

“I guess I am at least a little grateful that you didn’t put me in a long-sleeved spandex suit after all.”

Balthazar nods, but his face is disappointed.

Meg pushes her head through the crack in the staff room door. “I’ve put everything up. We’re ready when you are.”

He sighs and glances at a reflection of himself in the window. It’s enough to know he looks  way more extravagant than he ever has before. He doesn’t need to see every detail of it — it’ll only make him more nervous about the upcoming performance.

He’s still got a few minutes, so he gives his phone a look. He hasn’t talked to James since the party started, and frankly he’d be thrilled to have him physically here as well.

**S: How’s your party going?**

**S: I need to socialize soon, so I won’t be able to answer for a while. It’s almost midnight. Happy 4th.**

_J: It’s fine_

_J: I mean, it’s_

_J: I don’t know what to say here but I’m drunk and confused_

_J: Please don’t be angry at me_

Immediately, at these words, Castiel feels a pinch in his chest.

**S: What would I be angry about?**

_J: I’m drunk_

**S: Yes, and?**

_J: And you’re not here_

_J: And we shouldn’t talk about meeting but I have wanted to meet you for so long_

_J: And I’m frustrated about that_

_J: People are ugly, except remember when I told you_

_J: Never mind_

**S: You really are drunk. Please refrain from half-assed truths.**

_J: I don’t wanna upset you_

**S: If this is about you having hooked up with someone, I told you we’re platonic.**

**S: Or is this about something else?**

_J: Yeah, you know me_

_J: Remember when I said I needed to win someone over?_

_J: Seems like I might have succeeded and I really want to close the deal_

_J: But my heart belongs to you_

Castiel forces out a dry laugh, although his chest feels heavy now. What’s he got to be jealous about? He’s been flirting with Dean all night.

 

It takes a couple of seconds of nervous breathing, but after that Castiel is performing. He’s trying to step out of himself just enough to forget to be embarrassed, and when that doesn’t fully free him, he reprimands himself. He has to do this. He has to do well. He needs to be at his absolute best to impress the people who hired him. He needs to bring in the money.

He needs to shock them. This is why he’s wearing glitter, this is why he’s singing the National Anthem but not the one they wanted, and this is why he visited burlesques and strip clubs and circuses.

And just like that, the instruments of the background tape become his heartbeat, and the nosy lyrics of Del Rey become the blood in his veins. His gestures are elegant, he makes eye contact with the audience that’s are either insulted or awestruck and his voice comes out with full force after opening it during the earlier performance. As the song comes to the second verse, he feels brave enough to take the microphone from the stand and walk around the makeshift stage a bit.

All eyes on deck are on him. Even the people who’d much rather be anywhere else are unable to stop staring at a queer man strutting across the stage, singing an arrangement of flirtatious insults.

Then, the fireworks start going off. It’s magnificent, and Castiel returns the mic to its place to regain his focus. He needs to keep his mind on the game, or he’ll start seeing the situation as it really is and get insecure. He needs this hubris to complete the song.

As it reaches the bridge, he has a moment to prepare for the wing expansion. He goes through the lyrics carefully, making sure to keep them both in tune and intact; the song has a lot of lyrics to begin with and the arrangement they’ve done — moving from the chatty style the original singer has to something more lyrical — is not making it easier.

Another thing that’s definitely not making this easier is that suddenly he sees Dean standing right in front of him.

His eyes are on fire. If it were possible to pin someone against the wall with a single gaze, that would be it. As confident as Castiel feels right now, the flush of what feels like scalding tea — or lava — in his veins makes him waver for a second, two, three seconds... and he almost forgets his cue to pull the chain.

The song comes to the final chorus and the wings open, spread in their seven feet of glory on each side, framing him as a tastefully naughty angel of mischief. All eyes in the room are still on him, and as much as he dislikes attention on his days off, tonight he needs to be the main event, the centerpiece. It’s midnight on the boat, and fireworks are exploding rapidly, coloring him in blues, whites and reds.

And he knows instantly that as soon as he’s down from the stage, he’s going to kiss Dean.

*

After the performance is over, Balthazar guides Castiel back to the staff room and helps him take the wing ensemble off. He changes back into more comfortable clothes — the ones he had on previously — and runs his fingers through the curl of his hair to push it a bit upwards instead.

“You were phenomenal,” Balthazar says. “Of course, I would’ve been better.”

Castiel snorts. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Oh, that’s the biggest compliment you’re going to get from me, trust me.”

“Do you think they’re pissed off?”

“Absolutely. They hate us. I’m happy we’re making the bourgeoisie uncomfortable.”

“These are above bourgeoisie. These are upper middle class or elites. It’s scary.”

“Anyway, I’m happy this turned out so well. I guess we’ve got the paycheck in our pockets.”

“Well, almost. We need to wrap this up nicely in a way that pisses off as little people as possible. We don’t want anyone to dramatically swim to the shore.”

“It’s a short swim. We’re not that far.”

“Still, drunken swimming? I don’t think so.”

A knock on the door disturbs them. This time, Meg comes in instead of hovering by the doorway.

“Can I exchange a few words with Balthazar, alone?”

“Oh? Sure. I was just… Heading out.”

“M-hm,” Meg says with a tight-lipped smile, “help yourself.”

Castiel frowns, but goes anyway. Whatever they’ve got going on, he wants to have nothing to do with it. He wants to go back outside, forget about the shame that’s inevitably going to come sooner or later. Drink a little more of that tea, see this night through to its end, get home, and sleep.

“Oh, there you are,” Ruby says the second he takes a seat in front of her. It’s not crowded in here right now; most people are still out enjoying the fireworks.

“Here I am.”

“Sorry I missed the National Anthem, as good as that sounded from downstairs. Nice touch with the whole rule flexibility thing. Anyway, the Winchesters want to see you.”

“Why? Are they mad?”

“Well, they seemed a little frustrated to say the least. I think you might have overstepped the boundaries on what’s allowed in these parties.”

“At least I didn’t do drag. For a fleeting moment, I really, really wanted to do drag.”

“Don’t know if you have it in you, Castiel, but I salute you for even considering it. Drag queens are the heroes of our lifetime.”

“Preaching to the choir, here.”

Ruby hands him the tea with a grin. “But now, you should go meet your Winchesters. They’ll catch up with you in no time anyway.”

“Eh. Well, hopefully they’ve got a hatch to dump me into the sea after they blatantly murder me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ruby says and they clink glasses before Castiel turns away and eyes the slim crowd. Guess they’re back upstairs, then.

 

He meets Dean at the entrance. The fire in his eyes has turned into an urgency.

“Can we talk in private for a while?”

“Sure,” Castiel answers. Is he upset? Why is it so hard to read his expression? To be honest, he does remember how much he wanted to kiss Dean when he was riding the high of the performance, and that hasn’t fully evaporated yet… But it seems like Dean is all business and no play now, and Castiel needs to play by his rules since he’s the one who pays for the party.

“Come on,” Dean says, and leads him down the narrow stairs to a small kitchen below the deck. He goes in first, but as soon as they’re both in Dean crowds Castiel against the door. They’re not touching — by reflex, Castiel leans against the door and loudly slams it shut — but Dean’s hands are on each side of his head, palms on the door, his breath all over Castiel’s skin.

“Cas,” he says, his voice surprisingly composed given the situation. “May I touch you?”

He sees Dean’s eyes in the dim digital screen lights of kitchen appliances. Damn, he’s beautiful, and possibly at the end of his strength here, yet still asking for verbal consent like their flirting hasn’t been taking them here all night.

“Yes, Dean,” he whispers. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but soon enough, he feels Dean’s breath on his neck. It’s too much, it’s tuning Castiel’s nerve ends towards an overdrive, but it’s also not enough, not nearly—

Castiel lifts his hands to the sides of Dean’s head and pulls him in for a kiss. Dean’s warm hands wrap around his wrists, and for a hesitant moment they just stand still, lips to lips, and familiarize themselves with each other’s breath, and touch, and warmth.

It’s not enough after long. Riding a sudden high of _oh god this is actually happening_ , Castiel spins them around and pushes Dean against the door instead. He swallows the satisfied moan surfacing from him and deepens the kiss, letting his lips travel over Dean’s mouth, his jaw, his neck. His fingertips run along Dean’s sides, under his jacket but over his shirt, and it’s so warm and he feels so safe.

Dean wraps his hands around Castiel’s waist and pulls them flush against each other, blurring the lines of their bodies, slotting their lips back together. With a gentle touch of his tongue on Castiel’s, Dean invites him to investigate further into his mouth, to which Castiel happily obliges. Dean’s palms are still pressed against Castiel’s back, stroking him first gently but then stronger, more feverish, more urgent. As Castiel leaves for another exploration across those beautiful cheeks and jawbones, Dean talks.

“Can’t believe you,” he whispers, “can’t-fucking-believe you.”

“Hmm?”

Dean moans at the touch of Castiel’s lips at his pulse point before continuing. “You- a fucking angel.”

“You’re swearing, Dean,” Castiel hums. God, the reaction he’s getting out of someone who’s usually more composed, and businesslike, and way out of his league to begin with is going to be the end of him.

“Yeah, but I can’t believe you. You’re driving me out of my mind, Cas.”

Castiel silences him with another kiss, which Dean answers with new-found fervor. Instinctively, Castiel shifts his weight, gaining more areas of proximity and making it possible for him to almost-accidentally and all-too-gently press his leg against Dean’s groin. Dean wraps his fingers around Castiel’s wrists, and Castiel can feel the anticipation all over his body.

He wants more. They both do.

Right about now.

Dean throws his head back and moans way too loudly for this amount of privacy, and Castiel takes the opportunity to kiss and bite the exposed skin all the way down to his collarbone. They’re steering towards ruin in no time now, standing on the edge, and Castiel moves his leg, feeling exactly how aroused Dean is—

“Cas,” Dean whimpers and moves his hands to his arms, “okay. Okay, let’s. Let’s. No.”

Castiel immediately lets go of him and takes a step back. The silence is ringing in his ears, until he releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“What the hell,” Dean sighs as he bends over to catch his breath. “The things you do to me, Novak.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. His voice sounds horrified, which is not far from the truth. The turn of events is way too abrupt for this to be alright.

“No, uh. I need to. We need to finish the party. And I want to take you home. Will you come home with me? Before you answer, I need to confirm something with you.”

Castiel nods. He doesn’t know if a gesture that small is visible in the darkness.

“First of all, I’d be taking you home to continue where we left off. Definitely, definitely interested in that. Second of all, I need you to know that… That if you come home with me, I can’t promise you anything but this. I am not… Available, romantically.”

Castiel nods again. “I appreciate your honesty, Dean. And-”

“Wait, don’t answer yet. Let’s go first. I want you to think it over as much as-”

He comes close and kisses Castiel, after which he sighs in a way that makes it perfectly clear that he doesn’t exactly know what kind of a mess he’s found himself in, either.

“As much as I want to do this right now, or leave here and go home now, I need you to focus on the answer from a bit further away and not…”

He moves his hand gently across Castiel’s chest, and lower down his stomach until he reaches his crotch. There’s barely a whisper of a touch here, but Castiel needs to bite his tongue not to yell out of sheer pleasure.

“…not when you’re preoccupied like this.”

Castiel nods. “That’s… Uh. Very thoughtful. Thanks.”

“You and me both. We need time to think. Anyway. You good?”

“Yes, Dean,” he smiles, “I’m good.”

“Great. If you decide to come, meet me by the dock when we’re finished for tonight. If you won’t, I won’t hold it against you.”

With a final kiss, they leave the safety of their hiding place.

*

It’s a whole new level of personal hell.

Castiel doesn’t want to tell anyone what’s going on; they hadn’t talked about it, but he assumes a high-class man such as Dean Winchester wouldn’t want to be associated with this kind of activity.

Secretly, he’s pleased.

He loves that it was him, out of all the attractive people around them tonight, that Dean chose to circle around. That instead of playing tactical games and taking some possible client home, he decided to end the long game of flirting and choose Castiel.

Of course, there’s also guilt: about losing his focus tonight, about leaving his friends alone with strangers while he was making out with Dean in the kitchen, about thinking that he’d deserve anything like Dean Winchester.

There’s guilt about James. Beautiful, wonderful James who’s most likely head over heels for him— and Castiel’s not completely cold towards him, either.

But Dean is real.

That causes another twinge of guilt because of course, of _course_ James is a real person as well. He’s a good person who deserves the world, and Castiel truly hopes he’s as successful in his endeavors as he himself seems to be.

Before he and Dean can pick up where they left off, though, Castiel wants to talk about the condition of keeping it one-time-only. Not because it’s mandatory for him that they’re headed towards a romantic relationship, but because he needs to know where they stand.

He needs to know why each time his eyes meet Dean’s across the room, he feels loved. Dean looks at him like he’s worthy of it, like his whole day is made each time he is reminded of Castiel’s existence, like they’d grown from grade school best friends into fiances and all they want to do is worship each other.

Castiel shakes his head and huffs. That’s extravagant.


	12. The Escapist

Castiel presses another kiss to Dean’s lips before he takes his hand and lets him guide them to the bedroom. Even though he’s been drinking tonight, the thought of all this being real makes him suddenly stone-cold sober and a little nervous. He doesn’t fear not living up to Dean’s expectations of him -- in fact, he’s not able to place the feeling whatsoever — but it’s persistent, like taking this leap of faith could prove to be the end of them.

Which could very well be true. It might be that Dean gets a quick relief from this, and thinks this is a perfect end to their business relationship. It’s what Castiel thinks as well, and he wouldn’t have agreed to do this if he wasn’t ready to remain unattached. So what exactly is the problem here?

“You’re in your head,” Dean says. He’s taken a seat on the edge of his bed, on top of the duvet, still fully clothed. Castiel is standing in front of him, and they’re still holding hands.

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Don’t be sorry. I want to know what’s going on.”

“I am not familiar with this, I guess. I’ve never had casual sex.”

Dean seems to calculate for a moment, after which he gets up and pulls Castiel in for a slow, deliberate kiss.

“Alright, let’s start with a shower, then. Do you want something to drink?”

“In the shower?”

“Nah, before. I’ve got some grade A whiskey in here.”

“I could actually have that, thank you.”

Dean walks to the kitchen and pours a little whiskey in two rock glasses. They raise them for nothing in particular, and while Castiel is busy thinking this is the biggest mistake he’s ever made in his life, Dean slowly starts taking pieces of his clothing off. Castiel is mesmerized by the simplicity of the act, so much so that he starts following the example. Soon enough, they’re each down to their under layer, and Castiel puts his hands on Dean’s waist to familiarize himself with the feel of this man fewer clothes. Dean hums happily and places his hands on Castiel’s shoulders, and they kiss for a long, long, lazy time before Dean leads them to the bathroom.

Here, taking the rest of their clothes off feels natural. Dean turns on the water, and they come together in the steam from the showerhead. Castiel shivers at the touch of Dean’s skin on his, and lets his fingertips travel across whatever skin he finds.

“Better?” Dean whispers. Castiel can feel his heartbeat against his chest, and it’s racing. Instead of answering, he kisses Dean’s mouth, his neck, his chest, gently at first but then returning up, leaving bite marks in his wake. With only Dean’s gentle moans and the hot water filling the room with steam, Castiel feels like he’s slowly ascending to heaven.

The battle of dominance is far from over. Dean pushes Castiel against the cold tiles of the wall behind them, running the palms of his hands over his sides and down his hips. Their kisses are turning more frantic, more desperate now, but they haven’t reached the absolute breaking point yet. Dean’s tongue feels intoxicating against Castiel’s, and experimentally, he bites and sucks it for a second and whoa, okay, that’s a lot closer to the breaking point. Castiel sways his hips against Dean’s, realizing fully well how aroused they both are right now.

“Dean,” he mutters, trying out how his mouth works outside kissing and that’s not well at all, “Dean, are we- can I touch you?”

Dean laces his fingers between Castiel’s and seemingly tries to collect himself for a moment. “Are you clean?”

“Am I-,” for a moment, Castiel is about to point out that they’re still in the shower, but decides this not to be the perfect moment for a dry joke, “Yes, Dean. I’m clean.”

“Cool, great,” Dean moans under Castiel’s hands, currently traveling across the back of his neck. “Me too. So yeah, yeah, you can touch me. But please, let’s get out of here.”

Castiel nods with a sound emanating from his throat that definitely doesn’t belong to him. Dean  gets them both somewhat cleaned up from a night of sweat and glitter before stepping out,  Then gives Castiel a big towel and a kiss before leaving the safety of their new-found haven.

Before Castiel’s thoughts take him back into his head and further away from Dean, he dries himself leaves the steam of the bathroom. It feels odd to be naked in an apartment like this, as if he’s slightly out of place, and that’s what brings his attention to his ring. James’ heartbeat is frantic against Castiel’s skin, and with a twinge of guilt he steps back to his pants and pockets the ring, swearing  to send James a message the second he can.

Dean’s lying on the bed, this time under the covers. He offers Castiel a smile that’s both inviting and casual, and lifts the duvet so he can sneak under it, too. In a single swift movement, he climbs on top of Dean, straddling him.

“Hi,” he whispers. Dean pulls him in for a kiss, and another, and another, until he loses focus on what and where he is. Dean slides his fingernails across his back, wraps his fingers around his shoulders for a while, then pushes him a bit further away to share short, but reassuring, eye contact. Castiel takes Dean’s lower lip between his teeth and forces his hands to function enough for him to get up from on top of him — Dean has no choice but to follow, which he does eagerly — and take a cross-legged seat on the bed. Dean frees his lip by pushing himself on all fours and into another deep kiss, during which Castiel drags his hands down each of Dean’s sides and stops at his hips.

Point of no return. He doesn’t even know how many points of no return there have been tonight.

His hand instinctively finds Dean’s erection and he wraps his fingers around it. Dean’s elbows give in a bit; he’s still on his palms and knees in front of Castiel, but he catches on quickly. He sits on his haunches, takes Castiel’s head in between his hands and kisses him — kisses, kisses, kisses — so rough, so needy, so heated, moaning into his mouth in time with the slow strokes Castiel is giving him. Castiel can feel the shivers running up and down Dean’s arms and face, and oh god, he wants this to never end, he wants to make Dean feel better than anyone has ever before, he needs this as much as Dean does, he needs this celebration of victory.

Dean’s hand slides down his chest, and stomach, and wraps around him with a shockingly warm touch. Castiel groans, automatically lifting his hips against Dean’s hand, and even though it’s heavenly, absolutely blissful, he knows right about now that this isn’t going to be enough.

“Dean,” he says, his voice somewhere between a whisper and a groan, “Dean, I-”

Dean kisses him frantically, bucking up his hips as a reply, and although he already regrets this, he lets go of Dean’s erection to form a semi-coherent sentence.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispers.

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, but he nods and turns to grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand. Hesitantly, he also hands Castiel a condom — a good thing, Castiel thinks feverishly, it’s a good thing to wear condoms and he’s so so glad Dean is a responsible person because he could’ve forgotten about it already. He gently takes it out of the pack, but then it’s out of his hands again; Dean takes it and fucking puts it in his mouth and bends over to wrap his lips around Castiel, rolling the condom in place mostly with his lips and tongue. He gives Castiel a few painfully slow licks after straightening up again, clearly pleased with himself. Castiel has little time to be overwhelmed and wants a lot more, since a surge of desire washes over him. He needs Dean — now.

He takes the bottle and pours some lube on his fingers before kissing Dean again, letting his fingers travel between Dean’s thighs and making him fall backwards on the bed. Almost simultaneously, Castiel gently pushes one finger inside him, making them both moan loudly.

“You’re so hot it’s not fair,” Castiel sighs as Dean rolls his hips against his finger. “I’m fascinated.”

Dean covers his face with his palms before having to hit both his fists on the mattress. This is, hands down, the most responsive person Castiel has ever touched.

“Please, Cas,” he sighs, “please.”

Castiel hums. “Please what?”

Dean presses his hips further down, making Castiel pull back. He needs to hear this.

“Please, uh.”

“Go on. No need to hold back now.”

“Okay. I’ve just been dreaming about this moment for a while.”

Castiel smiles and adds a second finger, moving his other hand to Dean’s erection to add both pressure and pleasure.

“You have?”

“You are-” Dean’s words are broken now, and his back is arching against Castiel’s hands. It’s a sight Castiel would love to remember perfectly, forever — he wants to remember every inch of Dean’s skin, and his breathing, and those beautiful, hot moans and desperate whimpers, and how each time that their eyes meet, Dean seems amazed by how good he feels.

As Castiel is briefly distracted by kissing Dean’s inner thighs, Dean reaches out, grabs his forearms and pulls him on top of him and in for a kiss, and another one, then wraps his legs around Castiel’s hips and pulls him closer.

“I wasn’t done,” Castiel huffs. “Ungrateful.”

“’S alright,” Dean whispers, “I’ll be grateful the second you’re inside me.”

Castiel presses his forehead against Dean’s and laughs.

“You’re impossible.”

“No, you’re impossible, and that’s why I am like this, you ass,” Dean retorts and feels around on the bed until he finds the bottle again. He pours some lube on his fingers behind Castiel’s back, then reaches down to lather it on Castiel’s erection. Even with a thin excuse of rubber between them, Dean’s fingers feel warm, skillful and gentle.

Castiel lets Dean lead the way. He feels perfectly warm, and tight, and as Castiel slowly, slowly, pushes himself in, he winces.

“Dean, I told you I wasn’t done,” Castiel says. In response, Dean squeezes his legs tighter.

“I need you, Cas,” he whispers, and his breath is shaky. He pulls Castiel in for a kiss that’s surprisingly gentle, considering how exhilarated they both are. Dean lifts his hips, moving Castiel further inside him, and presses his fingertips and nails gently on the skin of his back. “Please.”

Castiel slowly, bit by bit, pushes himself all the way in, forcing a loud moan out of Dean. He sets a slow, steady pace that’s filled with kisses and random nonsense words of admiration from both of them. Dean follows Castiel’s movement with his hips and throws his head back, biting his lip. Castiel has honestly never seen anything this hot; this is possibly one of the best situations in his life ever, and he wants it to never end. But oh, he can’t keep it from being over too soon, because his nerve ends are singing and he’s shivering all over, and Dean kisses him harder and harder. He slides his hand between them and gives Dean a couple of firm strokes. Dean’s moans are getting louder, and he’s clenching his fists into the sheets again, as they melt into another kiss Castiel feels Dean coming under him, and he tries his best to keep himself from tipping over the edge before he’s fully stroked Dean through his orgasm.

After Dean fully relaxes under him, their hands interlace instinctively. With one more kiss, the heat intimacy, the feeling of Dean’s fingers and lips on him, just becomes too much: Castiel’s orgasm ripples through him, fast and powerful enough to shake him to his very core.

With their fingers still laced and their kiss continuing, Castiel pulls out of Dean and slumps on his side next to him. For a blissful moment everything is quiet, and the universe is filled with their perfect kiss.

Castiel knows he’ll fall asleep the very second he closes his eyes, so he bravely gets onto his worn out feet, tosses the condom and gets a damp towel from the bathroom to clean them both up from the remains of Dean’s orgasm.

*

Castiel was absolutely, morbidly wrong.

He can’t sleep.

He’s lying on the bed with the fluorescent lights of the city coming in from the window. Dean is sleeping next to him, still naked, covered in blankets, mouth slightly open but not snoring… yet.

First, it feels awesome. He’s lying next to Dean Winchester, post having actual sex with him, and he feels so cared for, and safe, and loved, and sated. He watches Dean sleeping next to him and thinks about how mesmerizing it is simply to watch him inhale and exhale calmly, as  his long eyelashes cast deep shadows in the dim light. Somehow he can’t wait to wake up next to him. Maybe they’ll both feel a bit embarrassed but drink coffee anyway, and talk about work or the party or anything, and maybe have a lunch before Castiel heads home.

Dean is _wonderful_.

It feels like he’s free-falling, kind of like he felt when they first met — but this is a static falling, as though instead of dreading what’s on the ground below him, or if the initial impact is going to kill him, he dreads that it’ll never end. He fears this thing that he’s obviously feeling for Dean is never going to hit the ground but stay in a constant state of falling.

Dean turns to face him fully and wriggles his way closer. He presses his temple to Castiel’s shoulder and sighs happily in his sleep. Castiel turns his head and looks at the ceiling instead. He tries to exhale silently, but the sudden tremor in his lungs and throat forbid it. Yes, he’s definitely falling, but since there’s no deeper state of I-kind-of-like-this-man, then what is it? Is he trying to tell himself he’s falling in love?

It’s undeniable. He’s not in love, not yet, but he’s steadily, constantly, truly falling for him big time. So much so that he wants to wake Dean up right now to feel his hands on him again. To see him looking at him again. To get Dean’s attention again. It’s like Dean’s suddenly become a current in his veins, pushing the streams forward,adding both adrenaline and narcotics in his system.

He blames the good sex for this, but these don’t feel like post-orgasm thoughts, no. He hates to admit how much he needed this — and how much he still needs it.

The sudden thought of it being one-time-only hits him. They agreed on doing this once, because Dean can’t do a relationship. He can’t do a friends-with-benefits thing, and he can’t do a romantic relationship. When Castiel first agreed to his terms, he’d thought about the romance factor — he’s not ready for anything like that either, at least not before they’d get to know each other better and proceed a lot more slowly than they have.

So where does that leave them? Does Dean even want to see him again now that their business relationship is over and they’re free to carry on with their lives?

Dean throws his hand over Castiel’s chest and gives him a squeeze. He’s still fast asleep, and if Castiel wants to function tomorrow he should be, too. He can already feel the heaviness of it settling into his legs and arms, but his heart is suddenly growing restless.

He can’t be here when Dean wakes up.

He can’t make Dean think he wants a relationship by staying until the morning.

He can’t make himself go through the motions of the morning after, because he knows he’s going to keep on falling for Dean, and he’ll be unable to let go.

And he definitely can’t talk to Dean about it. He’s innocent in all of this. He wasn’t asking for any of this sentimental nonsense, and that’s exactly what he’d get if Castiel was to talk to him.

So he won’t do that. Instead, he needs to get out of here before Dean wakes up.

Slowly, he takes Dean’s hand, gives it a kiss and places it on the mattress. He tries his best to get up quietly and without rocking the bed, but Dean groans because he’s waking up and really doesn’t want to. Castiel decides to wait — it takes a moment for Dean to start snoring lightly, after which he silently dresses and tiptoes out.

*

The most logical way to spend the day is working.

Luckily, some July specials are in for the season, and since Castiel already is here he might as well unload them so Kevin doesn’t have to do that on Monday. He unpacks loose tea, and tea packs, and containers for tea, and glass jars, and makes three different Daily Blends, and still feels restless enough to clean up. He meticulously ignores his phones; the personal one because he doesn’t want to hear how well things went for James, and the work one because he doesn’t want to get the final message from Dean — the one where he inexplicably tells him they can’t see each other again.

His heart is aching.

All he wants to do is sneak back into bed with Dean, exchange lazy morning kisses that possibly taste all hung-overy and gross, and let the rays of the morning sun catch the smiles on their faces and pretend there’s no world besides their bed. He wants to get up late in the afternoon to watch reruns that happen to be on TV, and order in, and never get up from where they’re sitting on each other’s arms.

After all those moments where he felt beyond repair…

He wants to love and be loved in return.

_But that’s not in the cards_ , he tells himself, feverishly dusting off some products on the shelf that haven’t been moving in a while. He should make an offer bundle from these before they spoil. With a sigh, he goes to pick up a shopping basket and loads it full of various products.

What to put in their place, then? The new summer arrivals? He dusts the shelf one more time and brings his findings to the counter. Mixing strawberry infusions with green lime teas are always a good idea, and the lavender ones he puts together with the thistle ones, and as his hands stumble upon the pine green tea, he sighs again.

Dean. Ridiculous, overwhelming, frustrating, obnoxious Dean fucking Winchester.

_Why can’t you stay out of my mind?_

He finally gives in and walks to the back of the store. There’s a cardboard box in the hallway — it’s been there forever, and he can’t even remember what it hides within — that he has grown accustomed to dodging, and when he comes back with his personal phone in hand he sits on it. Maybe feeling sick about James having hooked up as well gives him the distraction he so truly needs.

There are messages from James, but they’re all from last night.

_J: How’s it going? Did you light up fireworks at midnight?_

_J: The party is really hectic and I might go out for a couple of drinks too_

_J: And I’m still thinking about taking one person home_

_J: But I’m also thinking of you_

_J: Do you think it’s unfair to sleep with someone when you’re smitten with someone else?_

While Castiel thinks about whether to answer these messages, even knowing the situation is over now, he sees James start to type.

_J: You’re online, Steve_

_J: Thank goodness I was worried_

**S: Why in the world? Are you codependent on me?**

_J: Stop it_

_J: I seriously thought you’d died._

**S: What the hell, James? Why’d you think that?**

_J: The ring, fucker_

_J: THE RING, FUCKER!!!!!!_

_J: Okay maybe I also worried that you found the love of your life and would never want to see me again_

**S: We haven’t actually seen each other, you know.**

_J: Ah, the sass is still there. You’re good. I know you’re alright when you sass._

**S: How’d your night go?**

_J: A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell_

**S: So there were kisses at least. Glad to hear I wasn’t the only one.**

_J: Whoa! Did you seal the deal too?_

**S: I did. Although, to be frank, I was left wanting more.**

_J: Well, that gives me some solace_

_J: I was already jealous_

**S: Double standards, anyone?**

_J: No, but let me tell you what I think about this_

_J: You told me about that thing about you, right?_

**S: I’ve told you a lot of things about myself, James…**

_J: Well, way back when, you know, during that night that we were up all night, the night you never wanted me to remind you of_

**S: Yes, I told you I was questioning my sexuality.**

_J: After you told me you don’t feel sexually attracted to strangers and are pretty anti-One Night Stands, I’ve always pictured you as that person_

_J: That whoever this person was you hooked up with_

_J: You already knew him_

_J: And when you get to know someone, and also have sex with them, you’re that much closer to getting in a relationship with them_

_J: While I still can just have casual fun for one night only_

_J: You know where I’m getting at?_

**S: Yes, I think I do.**

_J: And it’s so unfair, since I’ve got no right to be jealous and yet here I am_

**Well, rest assured, it’ll not head anywhere. I’m still all yours to be smitten with. And you still have a very central place in my heart.**

James leaves the app for now, so Castiel pockets his phone and lifts his ass up from the cardboard box. He takes it in his hands — heavier than he remembered — and shakes it up a bit. It makes a clinking noise typical to cookware. Ah, those teapots they ordered a long time ago! Those will look good on the top shelf.

He organizes the pots according to size and color, and leaves two of them on display so people wouldn’t open the selling boxes. It’s almost time to open the store, so he puts a couple of Siberian fir drops on the diffuser. He’s in need of any self image boost he can get right now.

He continues to ignore his work phone through the day, and suddenly realizes he really, really needs to talk to Charlie in the evening. He’s already looking forward to sitting on the balcony with chamomile tea and talking with one of his best friends through Skype.

 

 

 

*

Of course, things are never as easy as Castiel would like them to be.

There’s a silent moment in the store as the afternoon turns into evening, just before the last rush that always comes right before the store closes. Talking to strangers about tea sometimes calms Castiel’s nerves, and this is one of those days — he feels sad for his past self for being unable to come to work. Meg joined him during the afternoon, mostly to mock him about the amount of obviously nervous work he’d done around the store.

Then, the phone rings.

It’s not his personal phone, or his work phone. It’s the store phone; the one that belongs to nobody, and that’s why Meg answers it before he can. Soon after, her eyes turn to Castiel, and that’s when he knows this can be nothing good — this is going to be exactly the kind of thing he’s been trying to avoid all day.

“It’s for you,” Meg smirks, “Winchester, the younger.”

“Sam?” Castiel asks. Okay, this is a surprise. Frowning, he takes the phone from Meg’s hand. She tuts and shakes her head. Before talking, Castiel walks to the glass jars of loose tea. All the privacy he can get.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Castiel. Uh, I… Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. Why are you asking?”

“Well,” Sam says with a deep sigh that can only be caused by some brotherly trouble, “Dean hasn’t got a hold of you today. He wanted to talk to you about something. I tried to call your number but you didn’t answer and-”

“Yeah, yes. Sorry. I left it at home when I came to work.”

_Great, Castiel, are we liars now?_

“Okay. Sure, okay. I don’t really know what this is about, but could you call Dean when you get home? He’s been pestering me for a while now. I think it’s a business thing.”

_Well I think not._

“Yes, sure. I will call him when I get home. Just- is he with you right now?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Well, tell him that I’ll be home late today, and that I will call him when I get the chance.”

“Sure, I’ll let him know. And Castiel? Will you be attending yoga next week?”

“Do you have classes?”

“No, but I was thinking of unwinding from all the ruckus lately.”

“Let me know when you want to meet. Obviously, not today. I might have time on Wednesday.”

“Right, thanks. Have a good day!”

Sam ends the call and Castiel huffs out a breath. Not only does he have to deal with the most awkward phone call in the history of mankind, he has to meet with Sam and pretend everything is alright.

But first, he wants to call Charlie.

 

He makes it home around seven, which is the prime time for evening sunlight on the balcony. Instead of chamomile he lands on licorice peppermint, which rolls in his mouth in that perfect manner no other tea can, and with his tablet in hand he steps into the middle of his flowers. The perfect bloom is still up — and his head instantly tells him that Dean would look great in here — and since nothing needs watering, he calls Charlie instantly.

_Please answer._

“Heyyy, it’s the brother I never wanted,” Charlie says, beaming, “what’s up, bitch?”

“Can you talk?”

Charlie instantly reads Castiel’s expression and nods. “Uh, wait a sec… I need to get a bit further away from the people I’m with.”

“Oh, I can call later if you-”

“No, nothing’s more important than you. So, how’d the night go? Did we talk yesterday? I can’t believe we talked yesterday. Feels like it’s been years.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Oh Charlie, I don’t even know where to start, I’m-”

“Shush, Castiel,” Charlie says, and scrutinizes his face before continuing. “Do you want me to come over?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to come over? You seem like you could use live support. I can’t hug you through the screen.”

“That’s nonsense. Where do you even live?”

“Nowhere so far I couldn’t fly to you. We could have an actual summer vacation and forget about boys. And girls.”

“Are you having love life trouble as well?”

“You know it. Anyway, tell me everything.”

“I… I ended up having sex with Dean.”

Charlie throws her hand over her mouth, feigning surprise. “Whaaaat!”

“Don’t even try with me. I know you knew it already. You know me better than I know myself at times.”

“Doesn’t make me any less proud. Do you think this was a big step for you?”

“Of course. I have never done this before.”

“Okay, so where’s the problem?”

“Well, first of all, Dean told me he isn’t looking for a relationship. Not a romantic kind, or a friends with benefits thing. He pretty much told me he’s emotionally unavailable.”

“Right. Well, that’s a bummer. He didn’t tell you why?”

“I didn’t ask. I felt it was not my place. But he told me this before I went home with him, so all the cards were laid out for me before, which, in hindsight, I really respect. It was a noble thing to do.”

“Well, I think it’s the bare minimum you can do for a person you are about to take home, but then again, I live in this red-green bubble of feminism and refuse to believe nobody wants to be an ass on purpose.”

“Oh, how I wish I could be in the bubble with you.”

“Summer vacation! I told you! Let’s go swimming an’ all!”

“Let me sleep on it first. Besides, I bet you’d be bored here. I need to work.”

“I need to sleep. I’ve got sleep deprivation that’s been stacking up since the 80’s. Could do that while you work.”

“Do you run?”

“Well, I can run, if that’s what you’re implying. No, I don’t usually do that, but I can run if necessary.”

“I could do with a running companion. Haven’t had time lately.”

“Anyway! Dean. He told you he’s not available and you went with him. What’s the struggle?”

Castiel looks away for a while. A bee is trying to get close enough to one of his pansies. It looks adorable.

“Castiel, you’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?”

“Falling. Not done with falling, Charlie. It… God, it-” A sob escapes his throat and he’s not even crying, “God, it’s all so fucking scary.”

“Hold on,” Charlie says, and grabs her phone.

For a while, it’s silent. Castiel feels a bit offended about Charlie’s sudden interest in other things that aren’t him — now that he’s on top of the dam and it’s about to crumble under him and he’ll drown, he would like to be seen. He _deserves_ to be seen.

The thought is both overwhelming and suffocating.

“Alright, sorry to keep you waiting,” Charlie says, beaming, “Can you leave me a key under your doormat or something? I really wanna wake you up with warm coffee.”

“What are you on about?”

“I booked a flight just now. I won’t have you crying over a man alone. I made that mistake when James first left you, but now? Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen, comrade.”

The news is so heartwarming Castiel places his free hand over his chest.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t lie like this. Seriously, you need to get to know me better if you think I would lie to you.”

Castiel can’t help the smile crossing his face, making its way to his heart and core.

“This is such good news. Thank you, Charlie. I will leave you a key under the doormat.”

 

*

There’s one more phone call to be made today. Castiel doesn’t really want to do it, but he also knows he has no choice. He promised Sam, and he couldn’t live with himself if he was the one who bailed; he’d see this through even at the expense of being ridiculed.

First, it’s time to check his work phone. There’s four calls from Dean, which is a soothing thing — he was afraid there’d be 40 and that he had really angered him. There’s a message too, but it simply states him to call when possible. With his chest feeling cold and empty, he dials.

Dean answers immediately.

“Heya there, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

A silence on the line. For a moment, Castiel lets himself think about how it had sounded when Dean had called his name last night. Shivers run down his back.

“You… Had called. Sam got a hold of me in the store phone and wanted me to call you when I get home.”

“Have you been avoiding my calls, then?”

“I… Might have. Sorry for that.”

“Why?”

“Well, you told me you don’t want a relationship, so I think staying in the morning would’ve been kind of a relationship move on my part.”

“We didn’t discuss the morning, yeah,” Dean sounds preoccupied, “we should’ve. I would have wanted to drink coffee with you.”

_Dangerously_ close to what Castiel wanted, too.

“And maybe order pizza or something. Have a lazy day.”

_Stop sounding like my dream come true. You’re about to break my heart soon anyway._

“Too late for that now,” Castiel huffs. He’s sounding ruder than Dean deserves right now.

“Cas, could I come over?”

“Not right now. I’ve got to prepare for a guest tomorrow.”

“Then just, man… Look. Talk to me. Have I done something to upset you? Well, it’s sort of obvious that I did, but don’t shut me out like this.”

His voice breaks a little and Castiel’s heart breaks in time with it.

“No,” he hears himself saying, “you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Did I hurt you? Did I talk in my sleep?”

“Dean, please,” Castiel says, “listen to me. No, you did not hurt me. No, you didn’t talk in your sleep. Alright: I can give you the truth or a cleaned up version, but you’re responsible for which one you pick.”

“Whoa, that sounds dangerous. Okay, well, although I want to go with the cleaned up version, I need to know the truth.”

“I couldn’t sleep after you fell asleep, and the longer I laid next to you, the harder it was for me to know how to act in the morning. Look, truth be told, I’m not used to these kind of… Activities. I don’t know what it means when you tell me you don’t want a relationship. Are we going to stay friends? Is that too much of a relationship? Will drinking morning coffee with you make you think I want a romantic relationship with you? I’m sorry, I should’ve brought all of this up before we did anything, but-”

“Cas,” Dean exhales, “Castiel. Listen to me. Damn, I would really like to talk to you face to face right now, but this will do. Okay. I really hope we can still be friends. I should’ve clarified better. I think what I really wanted to say is that I’m currently not available for anyone to rely on. I don’t want to have a stable relationship where I’m responsible for someone, but I want to continue to be your friend and drink coffee with you and maybe even eat scones, or I don’t know, burgers, if you’re up for it. I’m a busy man, I’m not gonna lie about that, but when I have time, I’d like to hang out with you.”

The warmth that can be only caused by Dean-nonsense-Winchester is back in his chest and he feels a smile tucking the corner of his mouth.

“Can I be honest? I can’t be in a relationship either. I’m… Sort of just coming out of something, and I feel I’m not ready to answer to anyone yet.”

A silence identical to Charlie’s when she heard this sentence fills up the line for a while, but then, Dean laughs.

“Well, isn’t that awesome. So, is anyone really coming to visit?”

“Of course. I am not a liar.”

“Never said you were. Alright, Cas, have a good night, now. Are you up for a cup of coffee or tea later this week?”

“I… Can’t say for sure. I don’t know about next week’s schedule yet. I’ll be working most days, though, so in case you need refills for your tea collection, you’re more than welcome to come to the store.”

“I will take that as an official invitation, then. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I can go back to sleep now.”

“You do that and I will do the same. Thanks for not judging my decision and for understanding.”

“Cas, all I wish is that you’d stayed long enough to let me take care of you in the morning. Since you’re not the type to do this stuff, and you made an exception for me, I would’ve wanted to make that coffee, and probably give you a platonic back massage or something.”

The words _well, maybe next time_ almost escape Castiel’s lips, and he sucks in a sharp breath instead.

“Thank you, Dean.”


	13. The Relapser

Like she promised, Charlie is there in the morning.

Castiel wakes up to the sound of his coffee maker and lazily gets up. For a moment he hopes it’s Dean, but when he sees Charlie standing in his kitchen with her back turned to him his heart melts a little.

“Hey there, home invader,” Castiel says. Instead of jumping, Charlie swirls around and greets him with the biggest smile.

“Hey, love,” she sighs, and moves in for a hug, pausing just before him. “Can I do this?”

“Of course,” Castiel smiles and leans forward, wrapping his arms around her. She smells vaguely of airplanes and coffee and a caramel soap Castiel has sometimes smelled before but cannot place. “I am so glad you’re here.”

“And!” Charlie says, beaming, turning around to reach for her surprisingly small carry-on bag, “I’ve got treats!”

She hands over two different kinds of tea, obviously local blends from where she lives in New York, and a giant bag of fudge. Castiel instinctively sniffs it, but it’s not the same as the soap.

“This should go super well with coffee, I hear,” she says, taking one more item from her bag — glazed white and milk chocolate swirls on top of what seem like cinnamon buns, in a brown paper bag. Local bakery? “Should we have overly sweet breakfast on the balcony?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel smiles. “Let me just get my morning robe. It might still be chilly out.”

Charlie nods. “And take your own coffee. I don’t know how you like to drink it. I guess it’s no longer black, three sugars now that you’re a fine-tuned tea man.”

“Well, no. It’s zero sugars, and oat milk. You know this thing?” Castiel says, opening the fridge to get a gray carton of oat drink out. “It’s not even on the retail market yet. I order it from stock for… Basically my own selfish needs. I could also offer it in the store to be had with tea. I usually don’t.”

“Mmm, a man after my own heart. A thief.”

“No, I’m not a thief!”

“Whatever,” Charlie laughs, and takes the carton from his hands. “Let’s see about this, then.”

She heads off to the balcony, and Castiel wraps himself in his trustworthy, nebula-patterned morning robe. Before following Charlie, he turns his focus to the ring; James’ heartbeat is solid and slow and quiet. He’s still asleep.

With not much thought, he kisses the warm surface of the ring.

 

They talk. Charlie listens intensely about the course of the evening of the 4th of July, and she doesn’t even bother giving unnecessary feedback. While Castiel absolutely adores all of his friends over at the Non-Partisan Tea Party, they know each other almost too well — they can compare Castiel’s actions to his past self, and they usually do that by assuming that at least a little bit of his motives are to do with social clumsiness. If Castiel told them he’d had a one night stand, they either wouldn’t believe it, or they’d give him a little condescending pat on the back. Then again, he should give them the benefit of a doubt. He can’t project his fears onto his friends and assume that’s how they’ll act.

After their talk, he and Charlie completely abandon finding any solution to the situation and head for the city instead. Castiel needs more fertilizer for the flowers — it’s been too sunny for too long for them to thrive anymore. After a quick trip to the very store he visited with James, they decide to have something to eat.

That’s how they end up at Freia. An unfamiliar man takes them to their table and brings them their starter drinks — Long Island Ice Teas, since Charlie wants to do comparisons to her hometown.

“I’ve heard a lot of good about this place,” she says, grinning at what seems to be an inside joke she doesn’t share. “Can’t wait to try out the food.”

“I can’t wait to eat, to be honest. I don’t think those cinnamon buns make for an optimized breakfast.”

“Yeah, maybe more of a lunch item. I eat them during work.”

“Do you need to do work while you’re here?”

“If I feel like it. One of the pros of freelancing is that you can actually do what you want every now and then.”

“Yeah, well. Sounds like pros of freelancing is that you’ve already made enough money to last you a lifetime.”

“I make do,” she shrugs, “better than most of my colleagues, for which I’m glad.”

Castiel can feel his personal phone vibrate in his pocket, and he briefly thinks about James and how he’s probably been awake for hours now, missing him. He wants to tell him how Charlie appeared out of nowhere and how glad he is to meet his friend — but then reconsiders, because that would imply that Castiel favors surprise meetings in general, and James would take advantage of that.

So, with a sigh, he neglects his phone for a while longer.

At that point, Gilda appears from the double-swing doors of the kitchen. She beams at him and starts towards their table, but then her eyes fall on Charlie and she comes to a screeching halt.  A second or two passes, until Charlie notices she’s being stared at — and then she gets up, knocking her chair over, and runs in for a hug.

For a moment, they’re just squealing at each other, after which they hug again. A lot of undecipherable words are exchanged, and then, finally, Charlie turns to face Castiel.

“This is Gilda,” she says, her voice still shaking with excitement, “one of my best friends. We go way back. And Gilda-”

“We’ve met,” Gilda says, “oh my god. I - Of course I heard your name when you introduced yourself, Castiel, but I never thought to associate it with the Castiel that Charlie has been talking about. It’s next to impossible and I - I guess I just thought it’s a fashionable, rare name from somewhere in the eighties I-”

“No, no,” Castiel says, shaking his head. “It’s alright. You couldn’t have known.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were in town, bitch?” Gilda asks, returning her gaze to Charlie.

Castiel realizes he’s uneasy, so he takes this moment to reflect on himself. Redfield would probably tell him he’s feeling left out, and doesn’t want to share the people that have given him more attention than most have recently, but that’s not true. First of all, he _has_ been taken care of. He has been looked out for. He has been… loved.

Of course he’s a bit disappointed about the unavoidable change in their pace for today, as he’d like to have Charlie to himself since she’ll only be here for such a short amount of time — but he can’t bear the thought that he’s become so selfish, so needy and desperate. It’s as if he exists less when nobody is around, and having people around justifies his actions.

It’s unnerving. It’s almost killing him to think like this.

Last, but not least — he doesn’t feel safe. Not when everyone knows everyone he’s ever met, and he’s let a stranger come into his home this easily.

He’s gone soft. He’s slipping. He needs to put the barriers back up, and never leave his house again.

To distract himself from leaving right now, he takes the phone out, buyt instead of a message from James, it’s an iMessage from a restricted number.

_Remember what I said about the Winchesters. Step away or I’ll have to take extreme measures myself._

With a gasp, he gets up from his seat. Both women, wholly engaged in their conversation until now, turn to look at him.

“I need to go,” he says hoarsely, and before anyone can protest he’s out the door.

 

*

Jane is on the bus, just about to find out she’s pregnant.

She’s pregnant and she’s never had sex.

Castiel knows the story through and through. He knows how this naive girl about to suffer from the repercussions of a bad day with her doctor is going to grow up to be the most badass mom and exactly the sort of hero more people should look up to. Because while she’s not out there wearing a cape or a lame set of overwear-underwear, she learns to live with herself, her new situation. Hell, she can even chase after her dreams. She helps many along the way, and her story will never be complete.

She can deal with an accidental artificial insemination, so Castiel should be able to deal with people.

While watching the show for the 15th time in the past six months, Castiel lets his brain loop over everything that’s happened today. He tries to put the situations in boxes of good and bad so he’ll know what to avoid in the future.

Charlie arrived. Good.

Charlie arrived without any time for preparation. Bad.

Charlie took him out to town after feeding him cinnamon buns. Good.

Eating at Freia…

As if being summoned, his stomach reminds him with a long growl that he didn’t actually eat . He growls back, silently begging it to be quiet.

Planning to eat at Freia, good?

That was a Dean place, right? Did he head there to be closer to Dean, or to erase what happened between them?

No, no, he chose it simply because it was a familiar place, and a fairly new one at that. He doesn’t want to navigate through the whole city yet, because of, well, procrastinating.

Planning to eat at Freia, good.

Running into Gilda, good.

The surprise of Charlie and Gilda knowing each other… Bad.

Surprises in particular, bad with a capital B.

A threatening message, _again_?

Bad.

He tries to put all of this in perspective. Is this is a thing to be overly panicked about, or should he just forget about this? Do these things happen to everyone at some point? Is there a person who is absolutely never at least a bit scared in their life?

His thoughts turn back to the message. It makes sense to think that someone is doing this to protect Winchester, Inc.’s reputation. It’s a family company with a history, and it’s bad press to hang out with someone like Castiel — a small entrepreneur with nothing to gain. There’s not much they’d achieve from a partnership like this, and since they probably do have to plan all their moves according to how much can be won… Yeah, it makes sense for someone to try and get rid of Castiel.

_Makes sense for them to try to get rid of Castiel._

He tries to remember the voice of the threatener. He would’ve recognized it if it belonged to Dean or Sam… Right? Of course he would have. It was the authentic, naturally flowing voice of someone possibly middle-aged.

He knows he’s heard it before. It’s not a familiar voice, he’s sure it’s  not anyone he truly knows or hangs out with.

His head hurts, so he returns his full attention to Jane.

 

It’s half past eleven in the night when Castiel hears the doorbell. He’d been waiting for Charlie to come pick up her stuff and tell him that his mess isn’t what she wants for her summer vacation. At first he’d wanted her to come after him and tell him everything would be alright; he wanted to be nurtured back to his new-found sanity.

But that’s a stretch and he knows it, because if it’s broken that easy, it was never true sanity — just a flimsy experience for a couple of days. He’d been too busy with the 4th of July party to focus on himself, and now he’s paying the price.

Since someone has made their way to his door at this hour, it’s only polite to answer. He lazily gets up from the balcony that’s bathed in twilight hues and makes his way back inside. He finds Charlie at the door, and she’s not alone — she’s with Gilda, Balthazar, Eileen, and of all people, Sam Winchester.

“Hello, boy,” Balthazar says. “We’re coming in. We’ve got hamburgers.”

Castiel moves from the threshold, letting people pass him by. Charlie comes in last, and before continuing, squeezes his arm gently. She says nothing, but the gesture spreads warmth through him.

“Alright, although we’d love to have come here for a Jane the Virgin marathon, I believe you’ve already watched at least a season today,” Balthazar proceeds. “Charlie found us in the store and Sam came looking for you today, and somehow you’ve got all of us now, so let’s have a seat on the floor and do a sharing circle.”

“What? I was just about to head to bed and-”

_No you weren’t_ , Eileen says.

“Okay, so I wasn’t. But I’ve got a shift tomorrow, and if we’re going to have a sharing circle it’ll be a long one.”

“Meg and Kevin have you covered for the morning. You can take the evening shift,” Balthazar says, “and don’t say I never do anything nice for you.”

He’s already sitting on the floor, and Eileen moves the coffee table so they can all face each other while seated. Castiel takes an awkward seat between Sam and Charlie, and concentrates on looking at his feet.

“So, basically,” Sam starts. They’ve obviously been planning this all day, since everyone was obviously waiting for Sam to start talking, and because his voice is overly calm. “We need to know where you’re at.”

“What?”

“Well, these people filled me in about the details of your past year,” Sam says, and Castiel gives his friends a round of icy looks, “and you’ve been doing tremendously, but we mulled this over and decided you’re not allowed to keep all of this inside. You need to talk to us. We need you to talk to us, Castiel.”

“You need a safety net,” Charlie says, frowning, “and I think this could be it. I will always, always be there for you, but when I’m not around… I need to know you’ve got people that you can rely on.”

“I’ve got a therapist,” Castiel starts. “I talk to him twice a week through Skype. It’s the most convenient way; I wasn’t ready to leave home to talk to him.”

“Right. That’s good,” Sam says.

“When’s the last time you talked to him?” Gilda asks. Castiel hopes his blush is not as visible as it feels.

“Uhh-”

“Ah, you’ve stopped,” Balthazar says, squinting his way.

“No, I haven’t stopped! It’s been a week, at most.”

“Alright,” Gilda says, glaring at Balthazar. “This is a judgment-free zone. We’re not going to blame you for the way you’ve treated yourself. Right, Balthazar?”

“Of course,” he admits.

_We made him promise that_ , Eileen says.

“We sure did,” Sam growls, still sending icy spikes out of his eyes.

“Okay, besides therapy, I’ve been coming to you, Sam, and that really helps. Those days we talk on the patio mean the world and I rarely think about anything else when I’m there. Uh, work helps, too, and of course-”

He stops talking, but everyone in the room already knows what he was about to say. Eileen looks at Balthazar, who clenches his jaw.

“Go ahead,” he finally states, “I can handle it.”

“He’s been really good, Balthazar,” Cas sighs.

“So I’ve heard,” Charlie hums.

“Wait, who? Who are we talking about?” Sam asks. Castiel glances at him, and he looks genuinely confused. He briefly considers asking Sam to leave the conversation for now — he’s yet to tell Dean that there’s someone in his life that means a lot to him, and even though Dean probably wouldn’t think twice about it…

It doesn’t feel right, but neither would keeping Sam out of the loop.

“There’s this guy. He’s- he’s my friend and we’ve dated before. We fell out years ago and have recently been in contact again, and… And he’s been a crucial element in my well-being during these last weeks. Balthazar doesn’t like him for leaving before, because he was the one who had to deal with the collateral damage.”

Sam nods. “Why haven’t you told me about him before? We have these heart-to-hearts on the patio, yet you’ve failed to tell me you’re… dating?”

“No, not dating. We’re strictly on a friendly basis, although he’s flirting with me every chance he gets. I haven’t felt ready to start dating again, especially when James already left me once.”

“That much sanity you had left, at least,” Balthazar mutters. Gilda shoots him a look.

“Well, James sounds like a good person for you, then,” Sam nods. “How come we didn’t bring him in for this sharing circle?”

“We’ve never met,” Castiel admits. Sam huffs out an incredulous laugh, but before he can say more, Charlie puts a finger on her lips, shushing him.

“Before you say anything about how odd that is, let me tell you I met Castiel for the first time this morning and we’ve known each other for twelve years.”

“Objection withdrawn,” Sam says with a curt nod. “Thanks for the clarification. Have you been able to tell him about everything?”

“Yes, I have. He… He knows more than any of you, to be honest. There are things I remember from Bartholomew I’m really not comfortable with.”

Eileen sighs, shaking her head. _We all thought you were happy with him._

“I really don’t want to talk about him. Let’s… Let’s focus on the now.”

“Yes, of course,” Charlie says hastily. “What do you want of us? How… How can we help you?”

“You being here means the world,” Castiel sighs. “To know there’s this many people who truly care.”

Charlie gives his knee a squeeze. “Of course. Now, what happened today?”

Castiel tries to just open his mouth and tell them that he’s being threatened, but he just doesn’t want to worry them.

And he _does_ feel guilty for pushing himself so firmly into Dean’s life. Maybe he should leave him alone.

“It was just an overwhelming situation. I was reminded of the stress of arranging services for the party, and you two knowing each other really threw me out of my comfort zone for a reason I don’t really know.”

“Could you try to talk this out with us?” Gilda asks.

Castiel starts to nod, but then shakes his head. “Maybe at some point. Right now, though…  I need to be able to be normal around all of you. I don’t want you looking at me like I’m something that should be fixed. I don’t want you on your toes around me, because that doesn’t help me integrate fully back into a daily routine. It’s, well, like you must know, it’s still off.”

“You’ll keep on talking to your therapist, then?” Balthazar asks. “You can’t be a pressure cooker. You need to vent.”

“I also do that with James.”

“James enables you to stay inside and text. That’s not equivalent to a daily routine.”

Castiel sighs. Sam scowls in silence for a moment, and when he opens his mouth with a trace of hesitation, Castiel almost knows what he’s going to say.

“Since this is a safe person for you, there’s only one thing to do,” he starts.

“No,” Castiel says. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need additional stress in his life. Not now.

“Eventually, you’re going to have to meet him.”

 

*

**S: My friends think we should meet.**

_J: What? You don’t meet with your friends?_

**S: They think I’m a total waste of human space and the only way for me to ever get better is to talk to people, and our conversations through any kind of written media won’t suffice. They think we should actually, face to face, talk to each other. We should meet.**

_J: What, wait, are you suggesting we should??_

_J: Are you kidding?_

**S: No, I’m not. But I’m not suggesting anything, either -- not yet, anyway? Sorry if I got your hopes up already.**

_J: You didn’t. I know better than to expect anything like that from you._

**S: [crying emoji, laughing emoji]**

**S: You’re mean.**

_J: Yeah, I kind of made it sound like that, didn’t I_

_J: But it was only half my intention here._

**S: You suck, James** _._

_J: You wish I did._

**S: HEY**

**S: It’s still early. I don’t have the brain activity to dodge your innuendo attacks.**

_J: It’s literally half past two, you ass._

Castiel groans out loud and gets up. He hears the cozy clinking of dishes in the kitchen, and for the second morning in a row, he thinks briefly of what it would feel like if someone he loves was preparing a breakfast for him.

He sighs. It’s not like he loves Dean, but he’s standing at the precipice of _could_ and that’s both thrilling and frightening.

They eat breakfast on the balcony, and this time Charlie remembers to feed him sunny fruits as well as another baked goodie that she probably picked up during her morning walk. Castiel’s feeling tired and groggy, since his head didn’t hit the pillow until four am last night. He’s still grateful for his friends wanting to help, but now he can’t get the image of meeting James out of his head and that makes him frustrated and twitchy.

He makes it to work around half past three, just in time for random tourist rush hour. The scent of roses is filling the store — in addition to the rose essential oil evidently in the diffuser, there are fresh roses on the counter. They’re tall, beautiful flowers in all colors, standing in a glass vase that’s must have come with the delivery; they don’t own a thing like that.

“Who are the roses from?” Castiel asks Meg when they’re side-by-side at the counter, packing summer tea bundles in paper bags. Meg gives him a sly look, but shrugs.

“Oh, I don’t know. You have to read the note.”

He frowns before handing his bag to the customer. There are two more people to go before he can head back to the other side of the counter, where the note is visible, hanging from the roses.

_To whom it may concern (equals the lovelies over at The Non-Partisan Tea Party)_

_Thanks for an AWESOME PARTY._

_Here’s to many more._

_Love,_

_Winchester, Inc._

Although it’s not from Dean and it’s not addressed to Castiel, he feels a blush creep from his toes to the back of his head. He can feel Meg’s gaze drill a hole in his temple, but he pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he leans forward and breathes in. Oh, damn, these are prime quality roses.

 

When the initial heat of the rush hour dies down, Charlie appears in the store. She looks through and smells every essential oil and tea and blend and rose, then squeals happily at the sight of various edible glitters and sugar sprinkles. While Meg sweeps the floor, they make two blends for the upcoming Summer Sale.

“I want to go to the beach,” Meg sighs. “I need a beach.”

Castiel peers out. “It’s a nice day.”

“What are you two doing after work, anyway?”

Charlie shrugs. “We don’t have anything planned. I’m already starving, though.”

“Chinese takeout and beach it is,” Meg says with a determined nod. She’s gone to the storage room before Castiel can object. Charlie leans in to whisper.

“That does sound good, man.”

Castiel’s stomach growls so he can’t disagree. He’s not a beach person — lots of people, direct sunlight, sand in all the wrong places — but he could make an exception if someone bought him food and let him sit in the shade, only allowing his feet to touch the evening rays of the sun.

“Called Kevin, he’s coming, too,” Meg informs, fuming back in the room with her hair floating behind her. She steps out to take the A-stand inside.

“I haven’t met Kevin, yet,  and I want to meet all your people. Besides, beach is summer vacation activity. I’m not letting you bail on this.”

“I won’t,” Castiel says, smiling. “As long as you let me stalk you swimmers in the shadows, I’m fine.”

Meg returns inside with a cough that’s clearly meant for them to notice her, and for a good reason — she’s not alone.

It’s Dean Winchester in jeans and a t-shirt, with a sleeveless hoodie carelessly thrown on to top off the ensemble. He’s still carrying a briefcase, which is nothing short of endearing.When his eyes meet Castiel’s, he breaks into a smile that crosses his sun-kissed features in an otherworldly way.

Castiel is so screwed.

“Hello, how may we help you,” Charlie asks with a smile of her own. She’s gazing between him and Castiel already, she knows something’s up, but she’s yet to crack who exactly she’s looking at.

“Why, hello,” Dean says, unable to look away from Castiel. This simple phenomenon makes Castiel feel like he’s the most beautiful entity in the universe.

For a while. After that, he starts to wonder if there’s something on his face.

Dean walks to them, and Castiel wants to kiss every damn freckle on that face. He wants to kiss those lips again, and he wants to show Dean how the flowers are blossoming on his balcony and hold him in his arms and fall asleep while Dean’s stroking his hair and he’s laid his head on his lap. He wants to wake up to Dean making breakfast, and he wants to call him in the middle of a work day to tell him he misses him, and he wants to go to the damn beach and get sand in way worse places than his shoes and under his nails.

“Charlie, this is-”

Dean offers his hand. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.”

Charlie’s jaw drops for the slightest of moments — possibly too short for Dean to notice. She grabs the offered hand enthusiastically. “Hi! Oh my gosh. Hi, I’m Charlie Bradbury, Castiel’s friend. Nice to meet you, too.”

Dean looks at Charlie good-naturedly, squeezing the handle of his briefcase before catching himself. “Oh! I’m here for a reason.”

He sets it on the edge of the counter and pops it open. While he rummages through papers, Meg closes in on him.

“What are you doing tonight, Dean Winchester?”

“Hm? Nothing, except for looking for that envelope—”

Castiel tries to gesture Meg to please stop talking, because beach alone is enough for one day, let alone with Dean -- who apparently has become ten times more attractive since they last met, and if their last encounter was him quenching a thirst, now he’s in need of the fucking Pacific Ocean to slake it.

He does realize that the water in Pacific Ocean is salty, and would end up making him more thirsty, and _oh doesn’t that_ just sum up his feelings perfectly.

“We’re about to hit the beach after work. I don’t suppose you’d want to come?” Meg asks, that sly fox, and her lopsided smile aimed at Castiel implies she knows perfectly well how he feels about both Dean and this suggestion.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve-”

“You need to come! I want to hear all about your first class showboat life,” Charlie says, “and who knows, it might even inspire me with my work.”

“Is that so? What do you do for a living?”

“Cybersecurity. Generally, I look up vulnerabilities for people who hire me to do so. In my spare time I study how viruses work and create firewall protocols.”

“Lot on your plate, huh,” Dean says. “Don’t know how I can help you, though.”

“You can tell me about your security basics, let me slaughter them, then hire me to make new ones.”

Dean laughs — a quiet, but genuinely amused thing. “Sounds fair. We’ve been meaning to update, but I won’t force myself into your relaxing trip without consent from your boss.”

His gaze turns back to Castiel, who feels those eyes are peering straight into his soul. What are they seeing? All the desire he feels, or how reluctant he is to get closer to Dean, for ear of not being able to pull back before the heartbreak?

“Sure,” he hears himself saying. “I don’t mind.”

“Great,” Dean smiles. “And look, here it is.”

He hands Castiel an envelope that probably includes a check for services rendered. Castiel feels it weighs too much for him to open right now, so he puts it in the safe behind the counter before they leave.

 

*

Having been born here, Castiel knows perfectly well where to head to avoid crowds, but           it means they have to drive for a while. Since Dean took the monorail, they all have to try to squeeze into Kevin’s van. They decide to let Kevin drive and sit Meg and Dean in the front, leaving Charlie and Castiel to climb in the cargo space. Apart from the stop at a Chinese restaurant and three bags full of what smells like deep-fried food for them to hold, the ride is smooth.

Since the sun is still shining, there are two groups of people there in addition to them. Still, it’s emptier than any other place in the city  -- mostly because there’s a bigger, better, volleyball-netted, and shark-free beach just a couple of miles down the road. This place is rockier than it is sandy, but Castiel has developed feelings for the desolate, rough landscape.

They sit at a camping table that’s been filled with tags in all colors. Tons of food is placed on the table, and after that it’s basically a chopstick war. Castiel’s gone on the deep-fried chicken pieces as well as the noodles, and he hoards them in his mouth, making Dean laugh in a way he’s not sure if he’s ever seen. Despite the boiling of his blood as he craves Dean’s touch, he tries to return the smile -- but it’s hard to do around the food.

They eat in comfortable silence, only exchanging notions about the food. Seagulls soon zoom in on them, making it hard to concentrate on eating. Castiel packs most of the food back into one of the paper bags, tossing the two others in the trash. When he returns to the table, Meg is talking.

“It’s such a good weather. Not gonna lie, guys, I’m happy to be here.”

She closes her eyes to bask in the orange glow of the sun. Charlie follows her example immediately.

“I agree. Although, I don’t see much swimming going on,” she mutters.

“Nobody’s swimming, Charlie. We’re literally on a beach rife with shark sightings,” Dean says, squinting against the sun. “Although, I would like to test my luck.”

“Or don’t,” Castiel hums, “Don’t is an option, too.”

“Cas, you scared for me?”

“Nope. I just don’t like unnecessary risks.”

Dean leans in with a grin that implies he wants to say something about the completely unnecessary risk he took by coming home with him — but since this is not public information, it’s all in the gaze. Castiel looks back with his best “you are not a risk, but a liability and you’re going to be the end of me” -look.

“I like swimming, sharks or no,” Kevin says, calculating the sea. Then, he throws his shirt over his head, bounces off the bench and runs towards the vast ocean.

Dean watches him go with a frown, but shivers visibly then. “Don’t get it. It’s getting cold.”

“Oh, I know what could-” Charlie starts, but Castiel kicks him in the shin before she can continue. He knows too well what’s coming and he’s really not in the mood for bickering. His sigh of frustration might be a bit too heavy, though, since it catches Meg’s attention. She opens one of her eyes and peers him for a while.

“Castiel, how are you?” she eventually asks.

Dean’s interest is immediately piqued, but he’s trying not to show it. Instead, he brings up his phone and taps away for a while. Castiel is both grateful and a bit sad for that. In Castiel’s wildest dreams, Dean would notice that he might need support from him, too.

“Fine,” he replies with a shrug.

“I heard you had a relapse. I wouldn’t say you’re fine.”

“It was a minor thing. I’m fine now.”

Dean places his phone carefully on the table before looking at Castiel again.

“Is this a sort of anxiety thing?”

“Yes, well. It actually occurred in the same place, as well. Charlie, I was taste-testing catering products at Freia with Dean and also had a panic attack.”

“Oh? Did you witness it, Dean?”

“I did.”

“He knew what to do, which was both a good and an odd thing.”

Dean lets out a long exhale before carefully choosing his words. “I… I once dated someone with anxiety disorder. I had to find out stuff about that. I… It’s hard. It can be really, really consuming and hard to handle.”

At first, Castiel hears the sentence and doesn’t think much of it — mostly because nobody else at the table reacts, either; but surely enough the familiar feeling of choking, of his lungs filling up with infected, painful air, is there soon after. Before he can process it, he’s up from his seat and headed towards the cliffs that currently offer the only safe place in the area — Kevin’s swimming from the sandy spot along the coast, and the other groups are scattered on the grass.

Great.

_Great_.

What was he even thinking in the first place? How did he get obnoxious enough to assume Dean would see past his anxiety and consider him a good person?

He knows Dean’s right, too — it’s a damn consuming and hard to handle thing, being close to someone who’s suffering from anxiety. It’s hard to watch someone have continuous panic attacks, and see them narrowing down their habitat; and if someone was to ever, god forbid, date an abomination such as Castiel… They would have to narrow down their habitat, too. Goodbye, theaters. Goodbye, movies. Goodbye, airplanes.

_Oh god_ , airplanes. Dean must love to travel. He’s rich, he certainly travels for business, and surely he’d want to take Castiel on a trip to Japan or Hawaii or—

How is he going to explain that to Dean? How is he going to answer his eventual query of “Why do you dislike flying? Are you afraid we’re going to fall?” _and no, it’s not the falling, I’ve been doing that all fucking spring,_ it’s the thought of letting yourself get confined and putting your life in the hands of a pilot that could be out of his mind.

A sob leaves Castiel’s lips, and he presses his fingers against them to quiet himself. No, he’s _not_ going to cry over some flimsy dream of a man he could never have had anyway. He needs to let go. That’s what Dean wanted, and that’s exactly what he wants as well.

He takes a seat on the rocks just before his toes touch the sea and unpockets his phone. There’s a message from James, just casually asking how he is, and just for the hell of it he’s going to tell him exactly how he is right now.

**S: I hate everything.**

_J: Oh? What’s up?_

**S: I hate being sick. Why can’t I be a healthy person? Why do I have to have this fucking mess to deal with?**

_J: Hey, Steve…_

_J: Calm down and tell me what’s going on_

_J: I’m currently in a situation where I don’t feel I can do anything right, so if I can somehow help you I will feel better_

**S: Sorry to hear that. Do you want to talk about your situation instead? I feel like I’m oversharing all the time.**

_J: No, I prefer it like that_

_J: I don’t know how to talk about… things and I’m also unable to talk about some of them_

_J: So I want to hear you talk instead_

_J: Is that okay?_

**S: Yeah… I guess it is.**

_J: Now, what is wrong?_

**S: I don’t think anything’s wrong. Nothing that wasn’t wrong before. I’m just really fed up with how my… situation messes people up. I keep on holding my friends back with my mental health… Or lack thereof.**

_J: I think we need to talk about your mental health at some point_

_J: But I don’t know if it’s a casual conversation over whatsapp_

_J: I… I think it’s a live conversation_

**S: You know what? One of these days I’ll just say fuck it and meet up with you. Until then, I hope you understand my hesitation.**

_J: I do, but you brought it up again this morning._

**S: It was because my friends brought it up first...**

**S: James… I hope I could explain to you so you’d understand how hard this is for me. I wish I was a brave person. Instead, I’m me, and I’m a mess, and for reasons I’ve hopefully told you well enough, I’m not yet ready to meet you. I wish I could change that this instant. I would do that. I want to meet you, and it’s constantly nagging away at me to know you’re waiting and I’m a piece of shit and**

_J: Hey_

_J: Hey_

_J: Calm down_

_J: Even though you’re clearly trying to drive me away on purpose before your mental state does, I’m not going to do as you say_

_J: As long as the words coming out of your mouth aren’t “I don’t feel safe with you” or “I am better off without you” I won’t leave_

_J: As long as you’re trying to tell me I’m the one who’s better off without you, I am not leaving_

_J: Steve, I’m not afraid of your battle scars and I will stand by your side when they fix you up and help by bringing sedatives or something,_

_J: I’ll do what I can_

Castiel wipes the stubborn couple of tears from his cheeks before answering.

**S: That’s what you don’t understand, James.**

**S: I don’t want you to be ‘here for me’ or ‘by my side while I heal’ or anything like that. I just don’t want to suffer from any of this.**

**S: If you’re by my side waiting for me to get better, it pressures me to get better, which is a double-edged sword. On one hand, I do want to get better for the one who’s there for me; but first and foremost, I should get better for me.**

_J: Pfft, bullshit_

**S: No, it isn’t.**

_J: Yes, it is. Because you know what?_

_J: No matter what those hang in there kitty-posters of today’s youth tells you, you totally can get better for someone else. At first. Then, when you’re getting better, you start to realize you’re indeed feeling better, and that’s how it becomes the most important service for yourself, too_

_J: Because if you need to start from the bottom, you’ve literally got nothing that keeps you going and thinking you deserve to get better._

_J: So you can get better for me, Steve._

_J: Get better for me first, and you’ll realize you got better for yourself in the end._

Castiel scoffs at the nonsense James is talking, but his chest is already radiating warmth. This is what he needs. He needs someone who knows him and who can make foolish enough notions to drag him back from the cliff.

With a stretch, he gets up and pockets his phone after answering James with a monocle emoji. He should know what Castiel thinks it means, and it’s _I’m seeing through your shit and calling your bluff._

He walks back towards the table slowly, and blissfully ignores Dean, who also seems to be more into text messages than actual, real-life conversations.

Well, that makes two of them.


	14. The Threatened

Saturday brings forth a surprise.

Castiel has been avoiding most duties, apart from work. He did laundry and paid the bills, but besides that he’s been watching Jane with Charlie. She’s been pestering for them to leave, to see people, to do something _nice for goodness’ sake Castiel this does not count as a summer vacation_. Castiel shoved the spare key to his apartment in her hand, telling her kindly she was allowed to do anything she liked, as long as he wasn’t forced anywhere.

He has been trying to calm himself down with some solitary yoga, or making home blends of tea and even an odd combination of tea and coffee. Mostly, though, he’s been trying to feel James’ heartbeat on his skin through the ring.

He’s never felt so deprived of his touch.

At times, it makes him feel bad. He’s allowed himself time to think about how much both James and Dean mean to him, and more than that — he’s allowed himself daydreams. It’s lethal and he knows it, but it’s too late to pretend he doesn’t feel anything for them.

Dean is someone he doesn’t want to be thinking about at all — he’s the guy who just told Castiel that his anxiety sucks and he doesn’t want to have anything to do with it. Or something like that.

The surprise comes in a phone call. Castiel has just closed the store at 5pm and is distracted by his work phone. Squinting at the sunlight with his keys still in hand, he answers to Sam.

“Hello, this is Castiel.”

Before there’s any speech, there’s music. It’s loud and accompanied by glasses clinking.

“Oh, hi, Castiel! How’s your evening?”

Castiel can picture Sam perfectly — a little tipsy, holding his index finger on his ear to hear through the noise. He feels a rush of anxiety running down his spine from the sheer thought of a party. He’s done with those for a while.

“Fine, Sam. Thanks for asking.”

“You didn’t come to yoga,” he says, a hint of sadness to his voice. “Did you already get too much of a good thing?”

“Oh shit! Sam, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I really had my mind set on that and I don’t-”

Sam laughs. “Calm down, Cas. It’s fine. I just wanted to know if you’re alright ‘n’ all.”

“I’m alright. Seriously, I’m so sorry. When are you going to go next? I really want to come.”

“Some time next week, I’ll let you know. But hey, it wasn’t the only reason why I wanted to call. We are currently celebrating a big deal we made, and I don’t think it would have been possible without the party last weekend. So, we’re inviting you all to join. There’s gonna be some other friends of ours, and the clients as well. And you?”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but just a soft groan escapes his throat. Sam laughs again.

“Look, at least ask your people? You don’t have to come if you’re not co-”

His voice cuts out abruptly for a while, and when it returns, it’s colder than Castiel has ever heard it.

“It would really mean a lot to us if you came.”

Another surge in his spine — but this is excitement. Did Dean just made it known that he’s wanted there? It shouldn’t even matter. If Dean’s looking for another quick lay and thinks Castiel is gullible enough to say yes, especially after his words on the beach, he can think again.

“Let me ask my friends. I can’t give any promises, but I can ask them.”

“That’s totally enough,” Sam reassures, “let us know and we’ll give you the deets.”

 

In hindsight, thinking about how lucky he was not to have to go to a party was probably jinxing it.

No matter how much Castiel sulks during their walk to the Winchester headquarters, nobody’s going to tell him to back off. Kevin, Balthazar, Meg, Eileen, and Charlie are all chattering enthusiastically, and none of them understands how little he wants to be here. He doesn’t want a party, he doesn’t want to see Dean, and the least of all he wants is to be at a party with Dean.

Because he knows himself and he knows that if Dean were to close in on him again, he won’t say no.

Castiel walks behind his friends, dragging his feet as he goes. When he lifts his hands to his face, he can smell the safety lavender essential oil he put on — and he has familiarized each of his bracelets in anxious situations before. Wearing them all, along with more rings than just James’, does add to his sense of security.

Feeling the heartbeat on his finger makes him miss James, so he texts him.

**S: Do you ever think you’d be better alone?**

_J: What does this mean?_

**S: Like… Genuinely, just, forever alone? You wouldn’t have to see anyone ever again?**

_J: I would like to kiss you, Steve. If we met, would you allow me to kiss you?_

Castiel’s steps stutter to a halt, and he lifts his fingertips on his lips.

**S: What the hell, James?**

**S: Where is this coming from?**

James sends a couple of laughing emojis before explaining.

_J: I can imagine you right now_

_J: You’ve stopped whatever you were doing to glare at the screen angrily_

_J: Until now, because now I mentioned it and you’re noticing it and you stopped_

Castiel lifts his gaze and sees his friends already walking on the other side of the crossroads. He mutters a curse and picks up his pace.

_J: And you want to reprimand me for such nonsense but you’re also thankful_

_J: Because for now, I’ve done us both a favor._

**S: I don’t think going into the deep end with no warning counts as favor, James. So I’m really, really looking forward for your explanation.**

_J: I’m sorry for catching you off guard like that_

**S: At least you asked for permission. That’s the James I do know.**

_J: I’m sorry, but I’m both tipsy and nervous right now._

**S: Okay, what favor were you talking about?**

_J: First of all, you’re no longer hoping you could disappear, right?_

Castiel looks at the dark clouds rolling over the city for a while, and sighs.

**S: No, I’m not thinking about disappearing. Thank you.**

_J: And the second favor is, yeah, a more selfish one. I’m really nervous about a work-related thing that I can’t unfortunately disclose right now_

_J: And thinking about kissing you…_

_Well it does serve as a distraction_

**S: I’d allow you to kiss me.**

**S: Somehow it doesn’t matter how many people I meet. You’re the only one that gets where I’m coming from. I’m tired of trying to get to know people. Can we escape to Iceland yet?**

_J: I could ask my work if they want me to go scout for expansion spots_

**S: And I can move my company there. It’s a deal.**

*

No matter how calm Castiel feels about the party after talking to James, all anxiety returns instantly when they step in through the revolving doors of Winchester, Inc.

It’s not like this is the first time they’ve been here. He’s seen these golden ornaments, these marble floors and dark wood paneled walls before. Back then, the only thing he needed to worry about was whether they’d succeed in making a deal for the 4th of July party.

Now, he needs to worry about multiple things. First, will Dean pretend they don’t know each other? Second, will some of the guests remember Castiel from last weekend’s party? Would anyone know that they left together?

Will Castiel have to deal with the consequences of that night forever?

When his eyes meet Dean’s from across the room, his moral pendulum decides to defy gravity anyway. Screw being superior to flimsy one-night-stands. Screw pretending to be cool with everything. Screw his stupid love-ish triangle, screw what Dean said at the beach,

Screw _everything_ but those eyes, and those lips, and that smirk on his face that implies he knows perfectly what he’s doing to him.

Castiel shakes his head almost violently to come back to his senses. Charlie bumps her elbow at his side.

“He’s looking good.”

“Don’t,” he sighs. “I really don’t need this tonight. We came here to party for the victory of… Something, something.”

“We closed a million-dollar deal with Greyes, Incorporated,” Sam Winchester says, appearing behind them from thin air. He leans his head between Castiel and Charlie, bringing his hands around them — gracefully offering both of them glasses of champagne. Dreading how the flute glass probably costs more than Castiel makes in five years, he takes it with utmost care.

“I have no idea what that is,” Charlie says with a scoff. “Sounds super lame.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Castiel agrees.

“That might sound like we’re asking, but we’re really, truly not,” Charlie continues. She turns to face Sam with a smile anyway, and they hug briefly. Then, Sam turns to Castiel in anticipation, but Castiel doesn’t feel like hugging anyone. Sam coughs and nods.

“Supply provider, long story short,” he says.

“Didn’t ask,” Charlie smiles. Castiel takes a sip of the champagne, letting it turn in his mouth just in time to see Dean not only moved closer, but is still watching him intently. Castiel swears Dean’s eyes follow his Adam’s apple as he swallows the champagne — and Castiel’s brain fills the spot with a thought of Dean’s lips on his neck.

This has long moved past wanting something. This has turned into a craving, a desire, a founding formation to his hierarchy of needs.

He needs Dean. He needs him to look at Castiel like he’s the only thing that matters, and it’s so overwhelming he doesn’t recognize himself in the debris of what used to be before.

They’re going to need to talk soon, but until then, Castiel’s suddenly very interested in the conversation Sam and Charlie have started.

“Yeah, Dean told me. I take it he admitted he doesn’t know jack about security issues,” Sam laughs.

“Well, he was reluctant to admit that, but he did anyway. We’ll be in touch as soon as I get back to New York, and I guess in a couple of years there’ll be an opening in his schedule for me.”

Castiel is about to ask when exactly they talked, but then he remembers he spent a lot of the time at the beach sulking. As he vaguely wonders how many things he missed simply by acting out, someone interrupts his train of thought by placing their hand on his elbow.

He spins around and is met by Dean’s gaze trying to drill into his core. He tries to exhale casually, but all that comes out is a screeching whine.

_You’re better than this, you ass._

“Hey, Castiel,” he says, a low, private thing, “can I steal you away for a moment?”

Castiel nods, even though Dean’s decision to use his full name sets his internal alarms off.

 

They head out to the covered back terrace through the double glass doors just as it starts raining. Castiel’s not much for weather-related omens, but this seems all-too-fittingly eerie. Dean takes a seat at one of the wicker sofas, but Castiel feels more comfortable standing.

“I think I know what happened,” Dean says, after a silence they both used to inhale the freshness of newly-dampened asphalt. For him it’s a private thing; he used to be a child that went out at night when it started to rain and laid on the ground, breathing deeper than on any hot summer day. _Petrichor_ , Bartholomew used to call the scent. For Castiel, it was called _rain_.

He scoffs at the way his head is obviously trying to distract him from the upcoming reckoning. Well, it could be reasonable to hide in his favorite childhood memories after this conversation; a little less reasonable to hide behind a memory of Bartholomew.

“You don’t have to explain.”

Dean sighs. For a moment, his face looks like a man’s that’s seen a lot. He looks weary, like he’s carrying the troubles of too many.

“No, but I need to.”

Castiel shrugs. “Go right on ahead, then. Trust me, though — I’ve heard it before. It’s nothing new.”

“I didn’t mean to imply I know how hard your situation is for you. Only you can be the judge of that. I might’ve come off as a know-it-all, and I’m sorry for that, Cas.”

Castiel swallows and returns his gaze to the rain that’s now gaining levels; soon, it’ll be torrential. What is Dean talking about? Not like it matters, his statement was still out of line. On a whim, Castiel remembers exactly how bad he felt back at the beach, and turns back to Dean with newly found vigor.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

All of the tiredness is gone from Dean’s eyes in an instant, and he’s looking at Castiel attentively — his surprise by the sudden mood swing leaving his mouth slightly open.

“Excuse me?”

“What the hell are you saying? Are you trying to put this on me somehow?”

“Wh-”

Castiel kind of wished Dean were standing right now, so he could shove him a bit. Then again, he’s never been the pushy-shovey kind, so maybe it’s for the best they’re not at the same level.

“You made it perfectly clear it’s tough and energy-consuming to be around someone with anxiety, so yeah, I got the message loud and clear. You don’t need to try to patch it up.”

Dean’s face falls. For a while, there’s only the whooshing rain. Castiel sniffles and turns his back to Dean again.

“What?”

Dean’s voice comes from just beside him. Damn it, the rain made him silent in his moves.

“I get it. I’m tiresome.”

“No, no,” Dean sighs. “You seriously thought I was talking about myself back there? You thought I said it was hard _for me_ to handle your anxiety?”

Castiel’s not silly — he already knows how the situation played out in reality. He feels like a jerk for purposefully misunderstanding the situation just so he could get offended.

“Because, Cas, please. I meant it must be so hard for _you_. And I thought that’s what you got upset about… For me thinking I know anything about the struggle you go through.”

“Never mind that,” Castiel says, his voice strangled with unshed tears. He’s morbidly embarrassed and needs an out. “Glad we got that figured out. Let’s get back inside. People must need you already.”

He returns through the door before Dean can say more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

Castiel just about makes it to the bathroom before his tears flow over. He sits on the toilet seat, brings up both of his legs, curls himself into a ball and sways his whole body back and forth.

Fuck it.

Fuck it all to hell.

He wasn’t supposed to care this much. He wasn’t supposed to care _at all_.

Does this mean he has to tell Dean he lied last weekend?

That he wasn’t ready for a fling without commitment? Would Dean need to take care of the aftermath of _that_ or would he deal with it himself?

Dean isn’t guilty of anything. Castiel brought this upon himself.

Feelings of guilt, longing, self-hate, and shame fill him up first separately, then all at once, and his head’s a mess like never before.

He’s tired and he wants to hide in his cave. He wants to wait for the next seasons of Jane to come out on Netflix, then gather dust and grow old as he watches them over and over.

Instead, he’s stuck at a party, in a bathroom, with—

With people in the room?

Yes, there’s definitely talk. Two, most likely, on the other side of the thin door.

“I’ve seen him around, yes,” a voice says before one of the faucets is turned on. “Wait a moment, please.”

With a grunt of effort, someone probably checks under each of the bathroom stall doors to see if they’re alone. Castiel’s never been so happy his go-to crying posture is a curl, and never been so scared to be heard.

“We’re alone.”

“Great, good, great. Whatever, right?”

“It’s not whatever. You know what’s at stake here.”

“Sure, a lot of things. Your reputation, for starters.”

“Our reputation, sir.”

“Of course, of course. But most of all, your ass is on the line. They’d throw you out of the loop the instant they found out about… Well, this.”

A shuffling sound of clothes is heard. It echoes on the sleek black wall tiles.

“Which reminds me. It’s time for another message.”

“Wasn’t the previous one sent, like, this week?”

“He needs to know we’re picking up the pace. How else is he going to learn?”

A moment of silence.

“Hah, there we go,” one of the voices say, and just as Castiel is starting to feel relieved because of what sounds like the end of the conversation, the phone in his pocket buzzes vigorously against his thigh.

His mouth goes dry.

He thanks whatever gods he comes up with for the fact that the buzz was completely silent, since now the men leave the room and leave him alone to inhale, exhale, inhale again.

The message makes his guts somersault.

_Seems like you’re still having a nice time with the Winchesters, Castiel Novak. It would be a shame if everyone you love loses their job at the Non-Partisan Tea Party._

Castiel has just enough time to get up and turn around before everything he’s eaten all day comes up.

 

“Oh, Castiel!”

Charlie’s chirpy voice comes from somewhere in the crowd. In the span of twenty minutes, the amount of people in the facilities has doubled. Everyone wants a piece of the Winchesters.

Charlie, accompanied by Meg, makes her way to him. They’ve obviously been dancing — they’re all bright smiles and red cheeks. Is there a dance floor somewhere?

“Haven’t seen you in a while! Where have you been? Turns out there’s an open bar. Do you want something from the open bar?”

“Uh…”

“I’ll go get you something,” Meg smiles. She seems to be in a good mood; then again, flirting back and forth with a gal like Charlie would make any queer person happy.

“You alright? Don’t know your physical persona that well, but what I could gather from your body language out there, you were pretty upset.”

“Well, I was. It’s all good, though.”

“It’s not, but I’ll let you have your lie.”

“Thank you, Charlie.”

She peers up at him for a moment longer, but shrugs after. “Don’t suppose you’re willing to dance?”

“Looking at my body language, do I seem like the type that dances?”

“Absolutely not. Thought you’d want to give it a whirl anyway.”

Meg returns with his drink in hand, and Castiel happily accepts it. It’s chopped ice, something green, and cream on top and tastes just as bitter as Castiel feels. He’s happy for that.

“Have you seen anyone else?”

“Uh, you must know by now where Eileen is,” Meg says and rolls her eyes.

“I’d guess she’s with Sam.”

“Yes, somewhere in his proximity. Although the Winchesters seem to be wanted by many people.”

Castiel carefully keeps his eyes on his friends. He doesn’t want to look around and start guessing which of these people he just almost encountered in the bathroom.

The man who’s been threatening him is in the same building right now. Possibly even in the same room. Most likely looking at him right now, waiting for him to make his move.

But it’s not the threat of losing everything that gets him going.

It’s seeing Dean Winchester again — he’s in the company of many, many people, but from where he stands, Castiel can see one woman in particular. It’s Bela Talbot, and of course Castiel knows her name, she’s one of the most accomplished news reporters of the city. She’s wicked smart, funny, and a quick thinker, and Castiel would’ve wanted to meet her someday. It could very well have been today… If it wasn’t for the fact that Dean’s casually holding the palm of his hand on the small of her back.

It’s not like Castiel is jealous. It’s not a surprise that he wasn’t anything particular to Dean, that he had his moment and it passed and there’s nothing he could’ve done differently to make Dean stay. He has no rights to him, so he doesn’t get to decide who he does or or doesn’t touch; but more than that, Bela Talbot seems like a really cool woman and he doesn’t want to think badly of her.

Before he fully realizes, his feet have taken him out.

*

Rain is pattering down in the streets, filling up the sewers and flooding the sidewalks. Castiel is soaking wet from head to toe, but can’t bring himself to care. The drink, obviously filled to the brim with alcohol, is doing little do keep him warm — it’ll be a long walk home from here, no matter how determined he is to finish it on foot.

He’s never been the type to storm out. Some logical part of him thinks this is due to the fact that the floodgate in his mind is opening; after suppressing his emotions for so long, they’re coming back all at once. He needs to learn how to control them at some point, but until then, torrential rain is punishment enough for his foolishness.

Because it does serve him right. He wouldn’t recognize this person. He used to always be composed, never lose his temper, and-

A memory fills his mind.

It was raining that night. It was one of the first nights Bartholomew and Castiel spent together; he was about to leave town for weeks and they wanted to be together as much as possible. They had only briefly talked about moving in, but it was somewhere in the far distance still — and that was when Bartholomew decided it was time to surprise him.

“I’ve been thinking,” he started, “that when I get back, I’ll have your stuff moved over.”

Castiel looked around his quaint apartment downtown; he had rented it with money he’d made, he’d renovated most of the walls and the kitchen little by little since it had been in terrible condition, and he’d felt at home here for the first time since he left his childhood home.

He didn’t want to leave.

“We… We talked about this, didn’t we? We’re good like this, the way things are.”

“Having to leave you hurts me too much,” Bartholomew said, “I need you to be home for me.”

The sentence sounded both romantic and threatening. Castiel felt annoyed enough to get up from the couch they’d been lying on.

“Are you serious? I’m not ready for that kind of commitment!”

Bartholomew looked at Castiel as if he’d just been hit.

“What do you mean?”

“I have just made myself comfortable in this apartment. I’m not… I’m just not ready to move out.”

“I see,” Bart said, sighing longingly, “I never thought you’d be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Look, I need to show you just how much I am in love with you, and being away from you hurts too much. It’s my way of showing affection. Why can’t you accept that? Why do you keep me away?”

“I’m not- Bart, I’m not keeping you away. But I’m not ready to let all of this- this work that I’ve done to finally build my own life, without roommates, without anyone to clean after-”

“Are you implying you’d have to clean after me? Have I somehow indicated I am not a clean person?”

“You’re twisting my words, darling, I would never imply that.”

“Castiel, I’m really trying to understand where you’re coming from here. So you don’t want to move in with me, because you don’t want to have someone to clean after? Yet you’re saying I’m not a person who you’d have to clean after. What’s the problem?”

Castiel gestured around to, well, most of the apartment. It being perfect for him didn’t mean it was big.

“I have worked so hard for this. I want to stay for a while.”

“So you’re putting your… Apartment before me? Before us?”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Gotta admit, Castiel, I never pegged you as a materialist.”

The sharp combination of guilt, anger, and frustration sent Castiel out of his beautiful apartment and into the pouring rain. Sobs tried to make their way out of his chest, but he swallowed them down out of spite. He was not going to cry over something like this — he was right, he had a right to his own opinions and he was allowed to express them in a relationship. Bartholomew was being weird, and obsessive, and out of his normal character that was the sweetest, most caring person in the world.

He knew already that he needed to get rid of the apartment. He couldn’t be a materialist. But right now, more than anything, he wanted Bartholomew to follow him, to beg him to come back, to kiss him in the rain.

 

It takes a while for Castiel to return to this moment, and longer still to realize what brought him back to it in the first place.

Someone is calling him. The patter of the rain is too overwhelming to instantly know where the sound is coming from, but soon enough, Castiel sees a familiar face among the few brave souls who are defying the weather.

Dean.

The first thought that pops into Castiel’s mind is _suck it, Bartholomew, this is the face of a man that cares_ , but he shakes it off fast. He could’ve forgotten his wallet and Dean’s here to return it.

Except he isn’t here to return anything. His expression is pained, and he looks at Castiel like there’s a floodgate about to open inside him.

“It’s raining,” he ends up saying. Castiel nods. “Where are you going?”

Castiel gestures vaguely somewhere behind his back.

“I was about to go home. Please, Dean, I should get home.”

“Can I come with you?”

Castiel frowns, and shakes his head. “You’ve got a party going on. You wouldn’t want to miss it over some drama.”

“This party was over the second you left.”

“Dean, please. Let me go.”

“Of course I will. I will with no doubt let you go, if that’s what you truly want. But I think we’ve got unfinished business and I don’t want you leaving before we talk it out.”

“We talked. I misunderstood. You don’t need to trouble yourself with me.”

“I don’t know how I can say it so you’ll understand, but me coming out here? Me running after you in a fucking monsoon? That’s not you troubling me with yourself. I am here because I don’t want you to leave without me clearing things up.”

“Riddle me this, then,” Castiel says, still having to shout over the rain, “are you doing this to clear your conscience or to truly try to fix things between us?”

Dean’s mouth falls open for a while, like he’s calculating a response that’d least likely leave him in trouble.

“I’ve got to be honest with you, it’s a bit of both,” he admits then. “I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t try to force it.”

“Alright, that I can live with. Now, please, continue to be honest with me.”

Dean nods, but laughs as the rain turns on another gear. It shouldn’t be possible to rain this hard. They’re barely a couple of feet apart, and Castiel can’t even see Dean properly.

“What do you want from me? I mean. I think you got what you wanted already, right? So what do you want?”

Dean shakes his head. “You’re wrong, I didn’t get what I wanted. Alright, honestly? I don’t know what I want. I am _lost_. All I know is that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all week.”

A whine unwillingly leaves Castiel’s throat. These are the words he didn’t even know he wanted to hear, and now that they’re out there it’s warm and fuzzy, and all he wants to do is to take Dean home now, and bathe together. Instead, he sighs.

“Well, you and me both,” he says, quiet enough for it to get lost in the roar of the rain. Dean hears it, though — he steps closer to Castiel in an instant, suddenly hovering only inches away. Because the situation no longer needs words, Castiel answers Dean’s silent request for consent with a quiet nod, and-

And they’re kissing. The rain, shamelessly falling all over and around them, making them wet and cold, swallows them in its curtain completely, and even though they’re in the middle of the street, they’re in private. Dean holds his lips still against Castiel’s as they enjoy the simple touch, and each other’s breathing, and being close like this.

“Can we,” Castiel mutters, forcing Dean to let go of his lips, “Can we go to your place?”

The suggestion is wild coming from him. No matter how much he resisted the idea coming here, he’s now suggesting another night together  — and Dean knows it. He looks at Castiel for a while, and nods.

*

However much they’d like to continue where they left off down on the street, getting warm takes priority. They make it in through Dean’s front door, and still fully clothed, Dean pulls Castiel in the shower. Castiel vaguely wonders if this is how Dean starts all his nights with casual one-night-stands.

Two-night-stands.

For a while, they just stand there, casually in each other’s arms as if their bodies had decided long ago this is the perfect location to be. Castiel feels Dean’s strong arms under his jacket, and lets his thoughts wander for a moment; how it would feel like to run his fingers over his skin again, to kiss him more thoroughly, to lie in the afterglow of early morning.

“You’re drifting,” Dean whispers, and kisses Castiel’s forehead to smooth out the frown formed there. Castiel shakes his head and leans it on Dean’s shoulder. He’s thinking of the previous time here, and how Dean caught him lost in his thoughts back then, too — he’s really no good.

“I’m sorry. I’m comfortable now.”

Dean takes his own jacket off slowly, and Castiel follows suit. After taking a layer off, they immediately fall against each other again.

“You sure? I want you to talk to me.”

“Well, I’m a bit worried about… about this, about us. What does this mean?”

Dean hums in amusement, but gives him another kiss on the forehead anyway.

“I wish I could rid you of the need for meanings of things.”

“I’m sorry I need so many definitions.”

“No, Cas… you’re awesome.”

Castiel feels a blush creep up his spine, and on a brave whim, takes his shirt off. He’s still got a t-shirt underneath, but he’s aware of how it sticks to his skin while wet. Dean doesn’t miss it either, letting his gaze roam freely on Castiel’s upper body. He runs his fingertips over Castiel’s stomach before pulling him in for a kiss.

Still wet, still careful, still shallow. Castiel can feel desperation building in his stomach, making him want to pull Dean closer and kiss the living fuck out of him.

Dean lets go of him to take his own shirts — three of them — off. When he wraps his arms around Castiel again, he’s warmer than possibly ever before. Castiel still shivers.

“I think you’re truly amazing, Castiel,” he continues, “but I don’t want you to think that you owe me something just because we’re here now. If you’re not comfortable with physical contact, or another casual night together… I don’t want you to think you owe me that just by coming here. All I wish for you is that you’d allow yourself to enjoy things.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighs. They’re too close for him to think clearly. He’s intoxicated by Dean’s warmth, and the water dripping from his hair to the skin of his elbows, and from here, Castiel can count Dean’s freckles from under his jaw, and his collarbones, and his beautiful chest.

He sighs.

“Dean, I need you.”

“Hmm?”

He presses his cheek against Dean’s chest, and it’s a little awkward until Dean lifts his head to place his jaw on top of Castiel’s head. The shower is still whooshing around them, a small, private rain. Here, Castiel lets himself think about what he’d really want from a one night stand.

“I need you to touch me. I need you to look at me. I need you to pretend that you care.”

Dean inhales sharply, as if to counter the statement in an offended manner, but then lets the air out in a quiet, long exhale. Castiel wonders briefly about the meaning of this, but lets it pass. None of his business.

“Let’s see,” Dean hums, and moves his hands to the waist of his pants. Unceremoniously, he steps back and takes the rest of his clothes off. He enters the stream once more to rinse himself before heading to the door. He yanks a robe from the hook next to the sink and turns to face Castiel after wrapping himself in it.

“Take all the time you need showering. I’ll bring you a bathrobe and leave you to it.”

Castiel exhales at the sudden loss of his companion. He tries not to think too much into it, but he’s also blushing, because _god damn it_ he really ruined it again. He was too greedy and he knows it. What the hell? He’s way too demanding for his own good. No wonder everyone think he’s a little pathetic.

Another memory — and Castiel does notice them starting to come in shorter intervals — tries to surface but he forces it back down. Not now. Not while he’s in Dean Winchester overly-expensive bathroom spending a sinful amount of warm water.

He takes his clothes off, piece by piece. It’s oddly purifying, like he’s ridding himself of the day, and all the shields he’s built around himself It’s as though he’s preparing himself for some alternate reality in which he’s loved and needed.

In reality, Dean would probably take his request seriously, and try to please him according to his capabilities.

But since it’s pretending, it will never be enough.

Still, the longer he thinks about it… Just agreeing to Dean’s terms, like last time, could help him put off any decision for a while longer. He won’t have to tell Dean he wants more, because he doesn’t know if he does. He won’t have to tell James he doesn’t want a romance with him. It’s a safe state he’s in now, and he could let himself enjoy Dean’s attention. Dean wants to give it to him, and he’s right, too — Castiel should move past labels.


	15. The Liar

Wrapped in the warmth of a teal chenille bathrobe, with James’ ring securely in the pocket of his jacket, Castiel exits the cocooning steam of the bathroom. Dean’s dressed up in college pants and a sleeveless shirt, and sitting by the lit up fireplace. When he sees Castiel, he smiles.

It’s the warmest, most private smile Castiel’s seen in forever; it’s like his eyes light up, as if he sees someone he truly likes — it’s the look he gave Castiel during their solstice trip to the meadow. To hide both his confusion and abashment, Castiel stares at his bare feet for a while.

“I’m sorry,” Dean exhales, “I should’ve brought you slippers. But now that you’re here, come sit and I’ll bring you socks instead.”

Castiel does as he’s told and shamelessly takes one of the whiskey glasses placed on the side table. He stares at the flames, briefly wondering where the glass aquarium opens. He thinks about Dean lighting it up while waiting for Castiel to exit the shower, and feels warmth radiating in his chest.

It’s _just_ like he cares.

He takes a sip of the drink, and Dean returns with woolen socks, kneeling in front of Castiel and slowly putting them on. They share a prolonged eye contact that holds more meaning than either of them are willing to admit.

Dean clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, and straightens himself before sitting down on the couch.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel says, his voice barely a whisper anymore. Letting a situation such as _someone kneeling in front of him_ make him dizzy is way out of the league he wants to play in tonight. “These are very nice.”

“I wish I still had time to knit, though,” Dean mutters. Castiel tilts his head and takes another look at the blue and white striped socks. They look even — Castiel hasn’t tried to knit anything in years, but his products are half too loose and the other too tight, some stitches so loose they’re on the way. Dean’s handiwork looks like a grandparent’s.

“So warm,” Castiel says encouragingly. “I’ll pay you to knit for me. Delivery time around next Yule.”

“Please, have those. I don’t… I don’t have any use for them, I’ve got plenty. The blue reminds me of-”

A sigh.

“Of the sky.”

“Yes,” Castiel hums, “I’ll gladly take these. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean bites his lip before taking his whiskey glass and leaning back on the couch. For a moment, it’s silent, and Castiel can practically hear the gears turning in Dean’s head.

“Could you come here?” he eventually asks. Castiel turns to look at him, and Dean smiles, extending his whiskey-free arm. Castiel slides across the couch to press himself against Dean’s warm side. Dean wraps his arm around Castiel, and kisses the top of his head. Castiel hums happily, and this is so cozy it’s almost dangerous. He loves to be this close to Dean — close enough to hear his heartbeat.

“You smell nice,” Castiel sighs. Dean squeezes him tighter.

“How are you feeling?”

Dean starts running his fingers through Castiel’s hair. Shivers run down his body, and he feels the sudden urge to climb on top of Dean and kiss him breathless.

How weird that he doesn’t do that. They’ve literally agreed they’d do that tonight.

“I’m fine,” Castiel says. “Warmer, now.”

“Are we cool? I still feel bad about my poor choice of words.”

“It’s alright. We don’t have to think about that anymore. I guess I… My attitude wasn’t exactly receptive. I only heard what I decided to hear.”

“Well, from now on,” Dean says as he swallows the rest of his drink and turns towards Castiel to take both of his hands into his own, “you’re going to try to hear things exactly as I tell them to you.”

Castiel scoffs. “Can’t make promises.”

Dean’s eyes gleam with something unsaid between them, but he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on Castiel’s jaw.

“I think you’re so weird,” he whispers, and moves to kiss his neck next, “and so fascinating.”

Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but Dean catches up and distracts him by biting his neck. Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat, and shivers run all the way down to his toes, curling them on their way out. Dean hums against his skin, and kisses the slightly sore point before straightening up to look him in the eyes.

“And you’re way too inside your head. Don’t you ever wonder how things would feel like if you thought a little less?”

“How come you’re unable to think? How do you turn your head off?”

“By staring into some of the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, for starters. It’s hard to think a lot while doing that.”

Castiel blushes and lowers his gaze.

“Sure. What’s the reason behind your no relationship rule? You said you’re busy, and I get that, but from what I’ve been told, it’s an excuse.”

Dean sighs stares at the fire for a while, deep in thought.

“It’s complicated.”

He’s suddenly seems hesitant to look back at Castiel. A dread fills Castiel’s stomach — what exactly has he gotten himself into?

“Are you married?”

Dean laughs, but frowns then, as if he’s actually considering the possibility after all.

“No, I’m… I’m not married.”

Castiel nods.

“I kinda want to tell you, since it’s been nagging me, but you might be angry. I don’t want you to get angry.”

“Let’s make a deal. You tell me, and I promise I won’t be angry.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“Watch me.”

Dean bites his lip and finally looks back at Castiel.

“There’s someone else in my life, and as long as I can’t say I have absolutely no feelings towards them, I can’t have a steady… anything with anyone.”

It’s like someone impales Castiel’s chest with a ten inch steel bar, but he resolutely swallows the feeling. A selfish part of him wants to walk out right now, and he briefly acknowledges that to be a new thing — not long ago, he would’ve complied to any shitty behavior that was thrown at him. Not to mention that until recently he wouldn’t have felt a thing.

He also realizes that would be hypocritical of him. He has James in his life, and it’s pretty much the same situation. He’s fooling around with Dean, while probably harboring feelings for James, and somewhere along the line he also thought about not being ready for any of this.

And oh — _oh_ , he promised Dean not to get upset. Who makes promises like that? Dean’s looking at him, scanning for clues on his face and in his eyes, looking absolutely horrified himself.

He looks like he’s just as deeply troubled  as Castiel is. He truly cares for the other person, but by the expression he has… God, he cares for Castiel, too.

It’s a beautiful, strengthening thing to notice, and Castiel rewards it with a quirk of his lip --and by finally collecting his courage, setting his tumbler glass aside and climbing on Dean’s lap.

The surprised exhale that escapes Dean’s lips is delicious, and Castiel leans in to give him a short, chaste kiss.

“I said watch me,” he hums, since Dean’s still looking at him oddly. He kisses him again, letting Dean go along with it this time, and savoring the feeling of his hands gripping his waist. He’s mildly embarrassed now that he realizes the chenille bathrobe doesn’t equal to having pants, but he can’t really mind when Dean’s palms find their way on his thighs, gently caressing his skin. He slides his hands up Dean’s neck and into his beautiful, still damp hair, and pulls gently. Dean moans and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss, to which Castiel happily obliges. He feels Dean’s hands move up his hips and under his robe and all the way to his back, and he tries to both lean into the touch and press closer to Dean.

It’s good. No, it’s perfect. Everything in Dean’s actions, from every gentle touch of his fingertips to the way his tongue gently slides across his lower lip makes Castiel feel like he’s cared for, liked, admired, cherished. It’s deceptive, but Castiel wants to enjoy this and forget the small sound in the back of his mind that tells him he’s not good enough to feel this good, and that Dean isn’t sure of that either; because otherwise, he’d chosen him already.

Dean’s fingertips are gently pressing into the skin on the small of his back, and he needs this, he needs this, he _needs this right now._ His hands travel on Dean’s head, on the back of his neck, on his shoulders, and he hates that Dean has clothes on right now, since that’s a problem they’re going to have to deal with soon enough. For now, he lets Dean’s lips leave for a gentle excursion on the skin of his jaw, and neck, and his upper chest. He enjoys each of the lovely sounds that leave Dean’s lips, until it gets a little too heated for both of them and Castiel reluctantly flops back on the couch next to Dean.

“You need less clothes,” he mutters, “I hate your clothes.”

Dean laughs and almost gets up from the couch, but instead leans back towards Castiel and slides the robe off from one of his shoulders. He plants a kiss on various parts on Castiel’s skin; on his shoulder, on the juncture before his neck, and on the pulse point just under his ear. Castiel’s breath stutters and he can’t help the needy moan escaping with an exhale, and he plants his hands on Dean’s back, trying to pull him closer. He’s being greedy; he vaguely realizes this behavior is not usually how he deals with being touched — but he arches his body against Dean’s touch, against the lips on his chest, and simultaneously tries to pull him closer by wrapping his legs around his waist.

Dean pulls back with an amused huff. His eyes are warm, and joyous, and caring.

“Cas,” he whispers, and places a little kiss right next to Castiel’s mouth, “We’re alright. We’re in no hurry. I’ve got you.”

Castiel hears himself whimper, and he bites his tongue to keep quiet.

“I’m going to take you to the bedroom now. I promise to get rid of my spiteful clothes and take care of you.”

Dean gets up from the couch and offers his hand. Castiel takes it, and smiles up at Dean before following him. They make their way to the bedroom quietly, and when Dean pushes Castiel gently down on the bed and takes his own clothes off, the atmosphere around them is almost reverent.

“Dean,” Castiel whispers, reaching out. Dean immediately finds his hands in the semi-darkness, and gives both of them a kiss before letting go. Castiel feels the dip of the bed indicating Dean taking a seat at its foot, and right after warm palms are on his ankles, then on his shins. Dean places little kisses on his legs and knees, and Castiel is feverishly thinking that he’s never, ever felt this good with anyone, not this safe, and never this cared for. Dean takes his newly-found desperation to be touched seriously, and he can truly trust the situation.

The thought almost makes him cry, and he blinks hard a couple of times to keep the tears at bay. Not now. He’ll not be the guy who cries during sex.

“How do you feel?” Dean asks, his voice is full of affection. Castiel slides his hand across the sheets, and Dean catches it. Their fingers intertwine naturally.

“I feel so good, Dean,” Castiel sighs, “it’s nonsense, I don’t remember ever feeling this good.”

Did those words just escape his mouth?

Was there something in the whiskey? Shouldn’t he hold back at least a little, emotionally?

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, I need you to make a deal with me.”

“W-What? I’m really not-”

Castiel is interrupted by the feeling of Dean’s hands under his bathrobe. The poor excuse of a belt is already open, somehow, and he’s trying to remember the rest of the sentence, but Dean places his free hand under Castiel’s knee and kisses his inner thigh tentatively.

“Yes?”

“Uh, not in a place where I can make deals.”

The words come out in a blur. Dean hums.

“This is simple enough. So, want to hear my terms?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel says, he needs to get a hold of himself any second now, this is _pathetic_ , “let’s hear ‘em.”

Before Dean speaks, he wraps his fingers delicately around the base of Castiel’s erection. When did that happen? Has he been hard all the time? His head is swimming, and it’s too pleasant for him to actually mind.

“Stay,” Dean whispers then. “I swear, I will make you feel even better, but you have to promise me that you’ll stay in the morning.”

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand roughly, and nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“It’s a yes, and it’s a sorry I didn’t stay b-”

His sentence cuts of in a whimper, because Dean unceremoniously takes him into his mouth. Castiel hits the mattress with the palm of his free hand, letting out a string of simultaneous praises and curses, and if his head was swimming before, now it’s in for a whole underwater rollercoaster. Dean’s lips close around his length, and he gives him a couple of slow, deliberate sucks before swirling his tongue along the tip. Each of Castiel’s breaths comes out heavy, as if air is constantly knocked out of him, and he could come in seconds from this alone. He loves the feeling of Dean’s mouth, and breath, and the grounding grip of his hand. Whenever there’s a solid enough moment in his thought flow, he reminds himself that he’s allowed to have this, allowed to enjoy himself, allowed to do this now.

“Dean,” he forces out, because suddenly, he’s dangerously close to finishing. “I want you closer.”

Dean pulls back, but not before enveloping him in one more warm and intense suck. Castiel’s muscles are failing on him and trembling even though he isn’t using a lot of them. Every inch of his skin is screaming in pleasure, and he’s aching to feel Dean on top of him, kissing him, touching him with those beautiful hands of his. He feels a twinge of sadness when Dean lets go of his hand, but quickly recovers when a hand brushes along his stomach and one of his sides. Dean reaches into the side table to grab a condom and lube from the drawer there, his other hand never leaving Castiel’s skin.

Castiel reaches out to him to guide him where he wants; and soon enough, he’s straddled on top of him, and Castiel’s hand are roaming on the warm skin of his thighs. Dean is so incredibly gorgeous, and his eyes flutter shut the instant he’s touched, and his breathy moans are divine enough to make Castiel’s soul sing. He runs his fingertips on Dean’s sides and his chest, enjoying the feel of that gorgeous, freckled skin on his hands. He hazily considers himself blessed to have another chance at this, and then lifts his upper body from the bed to wrap his arms around Dean.

They kiss slowly, deliberately, thoroughly, and Castiel’s palms run along Dean’s spine. He could count the vertebrae here. He really wants to do that — but that would be a grossly romantic act to do in bed with a person who doesn’t want anything grossly romantic. So instead, he slowly slides his hands slower. To his own surprise, he masters the single-handed lube bottle usage before reaching down and gently, slowly, pushing the tip of his index finger inside Dean.

Just in case he’d forgotten, Dean reminds him that he is the most reactive person Castiel’s ever touched. His hands instantly clench on his shoulders, and when Castiel curls his finger just a little, Dean’s teeth gently sink into his lower lip.

_God_ , that’s good.

Castiel moves slowly, but this time, Dean lets him add a third finger before he gets restless. He’s a mess, they’re both an absolute mess — kissing between words of nonsense and praise, getting lost in each other’s eyes and trying to control their breathing so they won’t slip into hyperventilation. Dean slowly puts the condom on Castiel, this time with his hands, and then lifts himself up a little to guide him in. Dean’s controlling the situation completely, for now, and he pushes their hips flush against each other far more quickly than Castiel would’ve dared, but the sound leaving Dean’s lips really washes away any care he had in the world.

Their touches turn to needy now, again — they’re gripping each other more fervently, more roughly now, their lips and tongues are doing far more than exploring: they’re claiming. Dean pushes Castiel back against the mattress, takes both of his hands on his own and starts truly moving; he’s riding Castiel to oblivion, and it’s just too much, and Castiel’s moans come out as almost-sobs. He’s thinks he says something at one point, something he’d probably be too embarrassed to say in daylight.

Maybe it’s the shame he feels about that, or the vague realization that he’s only been lying here, that gets him to act. He pulls Dean by his hand until he falls on him, their chests flush against each other, then puts his hands on Dean’s back and presses them closer, impossibly closer together. He moves his hips — their lips press together again, and he presses Dean’s hips lower and fucks him until all he can do is moan, which sounds more like yelling at this point. Castiel does notice his own throat getting sore, too, and that means he’s oblivious to his own sounds. Dean leans in to kiss him, then reaches behind him to take Castiel’s hands into his own again -- and then he’s coming all over them as Castiel twines their fingers together, and follows him right after.

 

 

*

Sunlight wakes Castiel up, and the first thing he realizes is that it smells like pancakes.

There’s music coming from outside the bedroom door and for a moment, he just listens to it. He can’t quite place where he’s heard the song before or who’s performing it, but it’s easy-going enough to enjoy right now.

He’s buried under a plush duvet, and it’s like lying on a cloud. It would be so easy to fall asleep again, but his stomach is growling and he needs to know if that smell can be backed up with actual pancakes.

Begrudgingly, he also admits he misses Dean. Any image that his head provides of last night makes him basically foam at the mouth — god, it’s too much -- so he tries to set them aside for the time being.

His clothes are placed neatly on the stool next to the bed, and they’re already dry, too. Slowly, he gets up and puts on some pants. For some reason, he can’t help himself; instead of putting on his own shirt, his hands find an old AC/DC tee on the ground. He sniffs it, and the scent is so wonderfully Dean Winchester he melts a bit. He wishes this could be an essential oil he could put in his diffuser.

Next, he checks that the ring is still where he left it; in the breast pocket of his jacket. It’s there alright, and this time he takes a moment to send James a text that he’s  alright, and just took  the ring off for undisclosed reasons. James answers immediately, only sending a winking smiley.

After that, it’s time to exit the safety of the bedroom.

Dean is just finishing up in the kitchen; he throws the pan in the sink and gives the bar table a short wipe before his eyes catch Castiel’s where he’s still standing by the bedroom door.

The smile Dean gives Castiel could end the next ice age.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says, and in the most pleasant shock of the morning he walks to Castiel, takes his hands, and gives him a short kiss on the lips. “I’m making breakfast. Do you want some?”

“Gladly,” Castiel hums. He squeezes Dean’s hands before letting them go, and bites his tongue so he wouldn’t ask about the kiss. This is what Dean wanted in the morning during their first time too; he already had his foolish way of handling things, he should give Dean his.

Besides, Dean is smiling at him. It’s worth everything right now.

He puts a lid on his thoughts about how much harder it will be for him to forget Dean after a Sunday like this, and follows him to the kitchen. Dean places a plate full of pancakes on the table, gets some orange juice and whipped cream from the fridge and hops on top of the table himself. Castiel’s heart swells at the sight, and he can only barely contain himself from swooning. Damn Dean for being this considerate.

He climbs on top of the table and reaches out to run his fingers over Dean’s cheek. Dean leans into the touch and closes his eyes for a moment.

Castiel swears the sun has never been this bright.

Dean takes a pancake in his hand, dips it into the cream and offers it to Castiel. While vaguely realizing he’s never been hand fed before, Castiel takes a bite of the treat. Dean leans his cheek on his free hand, and the admiration written all over his face is plain for anyone to see.

“You look good in my shirt,” he says, eating the rest of the pancake himself. “If I had my way you’d be here every Sunday, in my shirt, just like this.”

_Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask._

“I never thought I’d like it this much,” Castiel admits.

Dean nods and gives him another pancake.

They eat like this for what feels like a small eternity — hand feeding pancakes to each other, low key sending hearts with their eyes. They chat idly about what they want to do today, and nothing sounds as good as movies on the couch, so Dean cancels whatever plans he has.

Castiel’s certain even his previous boyfriend didn’t make him feel this loved. He feels adamant about returning the favor, and that’s how they miss the first half of the first movie — by exchanging slow, languid kisses with Castiel lying on top of Dean. With the edge of urgency off, it’s that much more pleasurable to just kiss and enjoy the slow morning turning into an even slower day.

Eventually, Castiel falls asleep with Dean’s fingers in his hair and the opening theme of some Star Wars on the screen.

 

Castiel dreams of sunshine, and the meadow he and Dean visited in midsummer, and for a moment, he’s so sad to wake up. He’s sad to realize none of those dreams of him kissing Dean are true, and he has to wake up alone in a world where Dean is only a dream.

Then he realizes that he’s lying between the back of a couch and a very asleep Dean Winchester. He’s being held close as if he’s a precious human being cocooned from the cruelty of the world, and for a moment, he just relishes the feeling with shaky inhales. Through the curtains pulled before the windows to ensure TV visibility, the sun is still shining.

Castiel places both of his palms on Dean’s cheeks and gives him a kiss on his nose, and his forehead, and then he feels Dean’s hand on his waist, pulling him closer.

“Never leave,” Dean mutters, his breath warm on Castiel’s neck. “Stay.”

Guilt and yearning both burn in Castiel’s throat. More than anything in the world, he wants to -- but Dean’s words about not wanting a relationship hang heavy in the air, and Castiel remembers Dean’s not _his_ to have.

“Dean,” he says, his voice strained. “We have a deal.”

Dean sighs, and opens his eyes. They look at each other for a painful, silent while.

“You’re right.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t make the rule.”

“I know, I know.”

The atmosphere turns cold. With another sigh, Dean gets up from the couch and crosses his fingers behind his head.

“I’m sorry for keeping you here like this.”

Castiel cranks himself into a seated position and stays put, even though all the cells in his body scream for him to go to Dean — to hug him, to calm him down, to soothe him.

“I stayed because I wanted to,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm. “I wanted to stay the night.”

Dean laughs dryly. “Yeah, because for some reason, I was the one who was worth breaking your rule against casual sex?”

“It’s not a rule. I’ve just-”

_What? Never liked anyone enough? Never found someone attractive enough?_

“I’ve never trusted a stranger like that.”

Dean’s features soften and he walks back to Castiel, sitting next to him.

“I’m not really good with that right now, am I?”

“You’re good, Dean,” Castiel says defiantly, and places a hand on top of his. “I’m sorry I am not good with the whole… casual thing. I fear that each time I open my mouth, I say something that’s way too deep for your liking. I think you’re beautiful, and much kinder than I deserve for the way I’ve acted with you.”

Dean frowns at their hands, and places his free hand on top of them both. Castiel feels the need to complete the pile, but he doesn’t.

“It’s not exactly easy for me, either.”

A blush covers his freckles and Castiel knows this is a hard thing for Dean to admit. And why wouldn’t it be — he’s learned to do what’s expected of him, and showing weakness doesn’t usually come with that package. Castiel swallows the jealousy he’s feeling for a person he doesn’t know a thing about, and squeezes Dean’s hand gently.

“Of course it isn’t easy for you. Feelings get confused so easily, and not knowing what you feel is even worse.”

Dean says nothing, so Castiel cups his face with his free hand. Dean’s eyes fall to Castiel’s lips, but they both know they shouldn’t get lost anymore — it’d make it that much harder for both of them to let go.

 

*

They part on good terms — mostly. The easy, affectionate mood of the morning isn’t fully repaired, but they order food in and eat while watching one more Star Wars movie. Dean shares tidbits of his work in exchange for Castiel’s, and he finds it unfairly easy to be around Dean.

People are right. The right person isn’t going to wait around until the time is perfect. It’s just going to happen.

When Castiel walks home through the city, it’s ringing loud and clear.

He’s in love.

Somewhere along the line, he stopped falling and entered a state of constant, painful bliss — like he fell through the roof of Heaven itself. The longer he thinks about it, the more certain he becomes; but at the same time, it’s both confusing and scary. He can’t say for sure he doesn’t feel anything for James anymore, because he’s always felt like home, but the distance between them has never seemed greater.

Feeling guilty about his revelations, he picks up his phone.

**S: Hey, there. I’m sorry I took off the ring again, but at least now you knew about it.**

_J: Well, yeah_

_J: Although I gotta admit, you didn’t used to be like this_

**S: Like what?**

_J: A different guy every night,_

_J: Loose sex,_

_J: You get the idea_

**S: Are you slutshaming me now, mister?**

_J: Oh, no! No, I was just implying how surprised I am_

**S: You’re excused, then. See, I can change.**

_J: I hope you’re not hurting yourself_

**S: I owe you a lot. I would probably still be home, dying, if it wasn’t for you. I… I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have you around.**

_J: NP_

_J: I mean_

_J: Not good with words here_

_J: Why can’t I get you out of my head?_

This isn’t exactly coming out of nowhere, but it still catches Castiel off guard. He inhales the fresh ocean air that comes from just around the block, and sighs aloud.

_J: I just mean_

_J: That_

_J: Why do I have to still have feelings for you that aren’t friendly_

_J: We broke up ages ago and we had a blast as friends_

_J: But still_

_J: Even now_

_J: Even now!_

_J: I could be with anyone_

_J: And please don’t get me wrong, because I am not trying to say “anyone would want me”_

_J: Because that’s not true literally nobody wants me I look like shit_

_J: Ahhh but I can’t be not thinking about you_

_J: Almost like ever_

The words burn in Castiel’s lungs — both the ones James says and the ones he should say — and he feels his heart start hammering. This time, it’s anxiety.He turns the corner and reaches the ocean just as the sunset makes it a stunning view, and when the wind blows on his face he notices he’s crying.

 

For a total of two hours, Castiel sits on a bench by the ocean. He watches joggers pass him by and vaguely considers running himself.

Charlie has made herself known. She’s told Castiel she misses him and that he should make his way home, since it’s taco day and he’ll love her tacos. She hasn’t asked where Castiel’s been, mostly because it should be obvious, but Castiel appreciates the gesture nonetheless.

Dean hasn’t texted him, and James has been quiet since his declaration.

Castiel is in love with both of them. Of course, the physical aspects he shared with Dean make it easier to be more occupied by him, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t feel it when James confessed his feelings, too.

Like coming home.

What the _hell_ should he do? Is he going to come to a conclusion any time soon?

How is he supposed to hold all these threads in his hands? His brain tries to tell him he’s not ready to have a relationship not when he’s still getting over Bartholomew, and he should probably worry about the man who’s been threatening him. If he were to take his own advice, the choice between James and Dean would be easy — he’s allowed nowhere near Dean.

Why can’t he place the voice?

The sun has set, and darkness envelopes him. It’s almost ten in the evening, and it’s been a while since Tea Party was closed for the day, but for some reason the thought of passing by the store makes him finally get up from his meditative spot. His feet are heavy and all he wants to do is climb back into bed with Dean, but since that’s out of the question he drags himself forward to another night spent alone.

He feels it before he sees it.

The closer he gets to the store, the more he’s filled with gloomy anticipation — with dread. His heart starts pounding like it did the first time he went out after being homebound, and his feet start to feel wobbly under him. Blaming the long week, he tries to shake it off as a panic attack. To distract himself, he takes his phone in hand, idly staring at the screen.

He turns the corner and immediately notices there’s a figure by the door of the Non-Partisan Tea Party. It’s at least eight feet tall, oddly-shaped, and the closer Castiel gets to it, the more familiar it looks. He slows down his pace, sneaking the rest of the way, and glances around to see if he’s alone. Trees rustle in the wind that brings forth a chill from the ocean. A car passes by further away. The whole world is holding its breath.

Castiel takes a couple more steps, and gasps.

It’s the wings.

His wings, hung from somewhere up above — quite likely the ceiling just few feet up — are completely, utterly mutilated. Torn feathers flap in the wind, and the next gust delivers a foul smell; something rotten. A twig snaps behind the trees across the road, and Castiel spins around, but sees nobody. He lets out a shaky exhale, and circles around the wings. The smell comes from something they’re covered in — it looks sticky and he really doesn’t want to touch it to find out more. Many of the supporting wires have been cut. They look like they belong to a… a lame duck.

Castiel shakes his head and brings his palms to his face. He’s asleep. He has to wake up. What is going on?

A message buzzes in the phone still his hand, and even though he knows who it’s from, he opens it.

It’s a picture of him, taken just now. He’s standing next to the wings in front of his store, and he can see how they’re hanging from the ceiling.

They’re tied into a noose.


	16. The Gauntlet

Nothing was stolen.

Of course, Castiel knew that before a self-righteous police officer came to tell him that.

He’s standing in the middle of his beautiful store, numbly watching the glass painted windows. None of them are broken. The threatener has class.

The wings, after a couple of pictures, are taken down from the noose. The police haphazardly pack them in a bag and throw them into the back of their car.

Balthazar would be so pissed.

Charlie was the first to arrive, and Kevin came about five minutes later. Ever since they stepped in through the door and gave Castiel short hugs that were meant to be soothing, they’ve been collecting tea in bags.

Castiel has no idea why they’re collecting tea in bags. They’re taking an ounce or two of each loose tea container, sealing the bag, and putting it in the shopping basket loosely hanging on Charlie’s arm. They’re whispering heatedly, pointing all over the store, and glancing sideways at Castiel when they think he’s not seeing.

He turns James’ ring in his finger over and over… And over. It’ll burn his skin any minute now.

Nothing was stolen.

Castiel had followed his first instinct and come inside; the thought of walking a couple more blocks while being followed was nauseating. He wishes he could remember if the security lock was intact when he opened the door. He closes his eyes, tries to remember.

An officer pats him on the elbow, startling him.

“Looks like nobody was here,” she says.

“I can’t leave,” Castiel whispers. The officer scrutinizes him for a moment. Castiel scrutinizes right back. Mills, her badge says.

“Do you feel unsafe?”

“What the hell? Of course I do.”

“We can escort you home. Did you come here by car?”

“No, by foot.”

“We can give you a lift.”

She looks at him with intense focus. Castiel is thankful someone bothers to concentrate on him.

“I will never sleep again,” he mutters.

“I can’t really say anything at this point,” Mills says. Her radio screeches to life. She presses a button, shuts it down for now. _Thank you_ , Castiel mouths. “But this looks like vandalism. We’ll have to hear from your friend, Mr. Dupont, since he was storing the…”

“The wings, yes.”

“We need to know whether his property has been violated.”

“I don’t think this is vandalism,” Castiel says. “This is too meticulous. This is a threat. Someone is threatening my life.”

“Is there a reason for someone to act this way towards you?”

“Yes, I think so. Me being friends with someone upsets people.”

“You said you also received a message.”

“I did. Do you want my phone? Because frankly, right now, I can’t even look at it.”

Mills frowns, her hand hovering over Castiel’s extended phone. He’s not sure if he’s even pocketed it since he received the picture.

“I think I’ll only need the number. Since we can pretty much deduce where and when the picture was sent…”

“Forward it,” another officer, appearing from somewhere behind Castiel, says. He’s got a box of summer tea in his hands, and he’s idly tossing it from one hand to another.

Screw these people. Castiel wants to clean this place, from the ceiling to the floorboards, rearrange all the teas, and sleep for a week.

He can do none of those things now.

“Right,” Mills says as she takes Castiel’s phone, taps it a couple of times and returns it with a curt nod. “Listen, Mr. Novak. You let me know immediately if someone threatens you again. You let me know what you were doing, who you were with, and whether the number is the same. Is this clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says hoarsely. Charlie appears beside him then, linking her arm with his.

“I’ll take this guy home,” she says. “Do you have a number that we can call if something comes up?”

Mills nods and digs up a card. It says her name is Jody.

 

Sleep.

Sleep.

 _Sleep_.

After what turned out to be a private tea party of various rooibos and lavender based teas, Castiel is put in his bed, the blanket snugly fitted over him. All he can think about is a coffin, and how far he had to go to return this close; into his crypt, in which he’s the sole keeper and resident, and others would rather turn their heads away than look straight at him.

He’s ungrateful and he knows it.

He’s stubborn, too. He could send a message to Dean or James, and either of them would probably come running. However selfish it feels to think like this, they both care about him and would want to protect him. He could choose either one, and feel safe for a while.

Not choosing in the first place… That’s the most selfish act he’s ever done. He should never have let it go this far. He’d been hoping he could daydream his way out of these messes, or closer into one or the other of the beautiful men in his life; but instead, he’s fallen in love with both — and none of that matters. None of that matters, since he has to steer clear of Dean, and it’d probably be best not to speak with James anymore, either. He can’t assume James would want to be involved in a mess like this -- not only is he mentally too unstable to handle any minor hardship, he’s got a stalker that would probably threaten James, too, were Castiel unable to stay away from the Winchesters.

“You’re selfish and greedy,” Castiel whispers to the ceiling, and before he thinks further, he picks up his phone.

It’s a relief whenever the screen is empty.

**S: Hey, James. I need to tell you something.**

He sighs and waits for the answer. James has been awake the past few nights now, so it shouldn’t take too long.

 

*

First, it’s the wings, exponentially growing in all directions — bloating, stretching, disproportionating indefinitely. Castiel tries to gently focus on something else, something beautiful instead, but as he thinks of the flowers in his balcony they start to bend out of shape behind his eyelids. He’s too tired to open his eyes for long, so he only blinks them open, hoping the in-between state of asleep and awake will dissipate into full, pleasant, dreamless sleep.

It doesn’t help.

He knows this place is called _hypnagogia_ — half awake, half asleep, and his brain is merely trying to start dreaming. However, when Castiel’s under stress beyond his capabilities, he mostly sees things getting out of proportion. A foolish way for his brain to address how things are getting out of hand, maybe, but he can’t help his rising anxiety levels whenever this happens.

He tries to think about nice things, or about tomorrow, but if it’s not fractals his head takes him in, it’s Bartholomew.

There’s a memory of him just outside Castiel’s reach. He tries to focus on it, but all he can get is arbitrary words and visuals from the house they moved in after Castiel left his beautiful apartment. He dreads what’s under the cover he’s so carefully placed on top of it. Carefully enough for him to rather remember what happened in December.

There had been something in the air already. After moving in, Castiel had absently taken note how more and more of the things he used to find passion in meant nothing to him. He didn’t bother to practice his singing, or wear his bracelets — nor did he want to buy flowers for their home, or read. The occasional comment from Bart regarding his taste made him want to become a better person, one his boyfriend could be proud of. The comments weren’t presented in a judging manner, only as observations, which made them that much more weighty.

He was happy. He couldn’t complain; he had a boyfriend he was living with, someone who loved him unconditionally, someone who would go the extra mile for him if he was struggling. He sometimes wondered whether anxiety or depression were the reason for that — after all, it was something that’d been boiling under the surface for all his life. Bartholomew, though, wanted to believe in the best of him.

Bartholomew had said anxiety disorder was a trendy, modern diagnosis, and that Castiel was generally too happy for depression. He’d suggest Castiel should put the little amount of personal stuff he had left in storage, and get a light therapy lamp. Castiel had felt misunderstood, even though he was too willing to please Bart to actually say it out loud, but it had started a wedge between them before December.

It was December 15th, and Castiel was putting up ornaments. He was a holiday person — even though he didn’t bother himself with thinking much of religion, he was a Christmas person. He wanted it all; lights, candles, wreaths, mistletoes, a big tree. It’d started with a thorough house cleaning a week or so before, and this was about to be the icing on the cake.

Then Bartholomew came home. He placed a plastic bag on the counter, still wet where Castiel had disinfected it, and put his hands on his hips.

“Oh, Castiel,” he said, looking around. A couple of tasteful snow paintings decorated the window. It wasn’t done yet — he’d need to buy dark blue window paint for the night sky.

“Oh, Bartholomew,” he said, tilting his head. “You said this was alright on the fifteenth.”

“Yes, yes, I know what I said. Still, it overwhelms me each year just how much you’re going to cross the line.”

“Cross the line? What do you mean?”

“If it were up to me, I’d put a little tree on the table, preferably one that already has LED lights attached. Maybe a star on top, for the spirit of Christmas, and that’s it; but because I’m one for compromise, I have wanted to allow you these… extravagant deeds that you’re so keen on doing. It’s hard, thought, because every year there’s more.”

Castiel frowned, letting his gaze circle around the room.

“Well, this is what you wanted to live with. I come with Christmas ornaments.”

Bartholomew huffed. “I guess that’s right.”

He turned to take the bag back in his hands and started emptying its contents to the cabinets.

“Then again, I’m happy to see that anxiety nonsense is out of the picture for now.”

That felt like a punch in the gut, and Castiel’s hands balled into fists around a tree garland he had just unboxed.

“I don’t like your wording there,” he said, his voice timid.

“There’s a lot of chocolate meringue in this cabinet, now,” Bartholomew said, gesturing to the cabinet in question. Castiel wondered why he even bothered to bring things up, since Bartholomew tended to ignore his protests regarding anxiety anyway. He walked to Castiel and put his hands on his waist. “They’re for the gathering I’m hosting later this week.”

“Right,” Castiel nodded, frantically trying to remember what important detail of Bartholomew’s calendar he’d forgotten this time.

“You’ve gained some extra here,” Bartholomew said lazily, squeezing both his hands on Castiel’s waist. “So I’d watch that meringue intake.”

It was not the first time Bartholomew had said something like this. Sometimes, when they were sitting side by side on a couch, he’d say something along the lines of ‘you’ve gathered a belly there’ but left it at that — and had Castiel confused about whether he thought gaining weight was something Castiel shouldn’t be doing. At times, these remarks had him run an extra mile or leave pastries uneaten, but never enough for it to form into an unhealthy obsession. Now, for the first time, though, Bartholomew had added an extra sentence; gaining weight wasn’t welcome, and he’d need to watch what he ate.

He nodded numbly and shook himself free from Bart’s grip. More ornaments needed to go up.

“I only want what’s best for you,” Bart said to his back. “And since we’re an item, I want you to look good next to me.”

_Like an accessory._

“I think I’m fine,” Castiel said, his voice filled with wavering resolution, “I don’t think-”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Bartholomew interrupted him. “You never try to see things from my perspective. To be honest, I thought a little more of you. You showed such promise, and god knows I’ve seen my fair share of shitty boyfriends, but sometimes you’re just like the rest of them.”

Bartholomew’s words set the room spinning a little. He had disappointed the person who loved him the most. It wasn’t fair — he’d done his best, and he hadn’t known weight was such a big deal for Bart. It hurt like hell to be compared to everyone else; Bartholomew had fallen in love with him because he was nothing like anyone he’d ever met before. They’d bonded through their feeling of isolation from others.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “Please- Please don’t say that.”

“Too late for that now,” Bartholomew huffed. He picked up his phone to check something — his calendar, most likely — and when his gaze returned to Castiel, it had somewhat softened.

“I don’t want to be telling you what’s really troubling me, since I know you’re smart,” he said, returning his hands on Castiel, this time on his hips.

Castiel knew what Bartholomew was talking about. It had never been mentioned before, but an idle touch here and a condemning gaze there made it perfectly clear what he thought about the ring still on Castiel’s finger. It bothered him terribly that Castiel held a piece of his past this close to him, and that someone he used to be romantically involved with a long time ago still held significance for him.

So he nodded.

“I know what you mean.”

“And?”

“It… It doesn’t feel right. Bart, please, I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just part of who I am. You’re the one I’m _with_.”

Bartholomew threw his hands into the air and turned around. The way his shoulders tensed left no question about how angry he was.

“Are you jealous?”

“What the hell, Castiel? Should I be? Are you seeing him again?”

“Of course not. You know it’s been over for ages. The reason I keep this is that I feel more like myself when I do. It’s a part of me.”

“I’d like to think I don’t ask much of you. I mean, I’ve made adjustments according to your whims. I’ve wanted that ring gone as long as we’ve been together, and I’ve learned to live with it.”

“Then what’s changed?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Where’s this coming from, Bartholomew? Have I recently upset you somehow?”

Bartholomew clenched his jaw, clearly holding something back.

“I don’t know, have you?”

Castied placed his fingers on the ring, and immediately felt a twinge of regret. He was not going to remove it.

“What have I done? What can I do to fix it?”

“There’s nothing you can do, except, well. Give me this single little thing and remove the ring.”

“I… I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Bart stepped closer, taking Castiel’s free hand into both of his. Suddenly, his eyes were filled with a strange, joyless glow.

“I’ll even sweeten the deal.”

“What?”

“A ring for a ring.”

Castiel gasped. This wasn’t the proposal he’d thought he’d get; not that he had been expecting one, but it’d been coming eventually… Right? But right here, a garland still in his hand, feeling devastated and broken — this was not the way. Even though everything in his brain screamed him to yield, to say yes, to give Bartholomew what he needed…

“No,” he whispered. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t. Not like this.”

Bartholomew pushed Castiel’s hand away forcefully and took a step back. His leg bumped into one of the cardboard boxes still full of ornaments, and blood ran out of Castiel’s head.

“This fucking shit!” Bartholomew yelled, and kicked the box to the other end of the living room. “You will fucking clean all of this fucking shit up, I don’t want to see a single fucking ornament in my apartment ever again! Do you understand this, you ass?”

Castiel’s legs gave in and he knelt on the floor. His lungs were trying to inhale rapidly, but they failed — his heart beat against his ribs and he was pretty sure he was having a heart attack out of sheer horror — and his mouth opened to speak, or to scream, but nothing came out.

“Oh, isn’t that just typical of you, making a dramatic scene of yourself. What do you want me to do? Coddle you? Slow clap? Play along until you realize nobody really wants to hang out with you?”

It was delivering meticulous punches straight into Castiel’s weak spots, and he vaguely realized it — Bart was upset and not thinking clearly and probably he didn’t mean to say all of this.

Then again — when Castiel returned his gaze up into his boyfriend’s face, he was composed, calm, perfectly in control of himself.

“No, that’s not what I want,” Castiel answered, but his voice was hesitant and weary. Bartholomew walked to the hallway, and returned with a small, black jewelry box. Castiel shook his head.

“Please, don’t,” he whispered, and wondered why those were the words he chose to say. “Please don’t.”

*

After what feels like forever spent in memories, Castiel takes a shower. He washes himself thoroughly from head to toe with soap that smells like oranges and vague summer ocean memories.

He can’t remember what comes after he begged Bartholomew to _please don’t_ , but his head and chest hurts.

Charlie and Gilda watch movies in his living room, but Castiel returns to his room immediately after wrapping himself in a robe. He plans to return to watch Jane, but his wildly beeping phone requires attention first.

_J: Sorry, I’ve been real busy_

_J: What’s up?_

_J: You sound ominous_

_J: What’s going on, Steve?_

**S: It’s been over 24 hours, James. Fuck, I was worried about you. I mean sure, I can feel the ring, but other than that? Radio silence is scary.**

_J: Shit, I’m sorry_

_J: There’s just… been a lot_

**S: Sorry, I’m a nervous wreck, it seems. Let me just try to form my wording, here.**

Although James seems distant at best right now, Castiel knows he’ll be mad. He’ll be mad because someone threatened Castiel, and he’ll be mad for not being able to come here, personally, to take care of him. Would Castiel deny him that?

He doesn’t even know anymore. Maybe he won’t. Maybe it’s time to meet.

**S: Someone has threatened me. I don’t really know how else to put this. Someone has threatened me for getting cozy with this guy, although we’re just friends. It’s really scary, and they know where I work and I don’t know what to do.**

James is online when Castiel sends the message, and it’s immediately marked as read. After that, though, he goes offline. He tries not to feel both guilty and angry about that, since maybe James is just busy — but seriously, leaving immediately after hearing a thing like that?

_Stop trying to make this about you. He’s just busy._

He suddenly feels too restless to be alone, so he puts on some pants and a t-shirt before sneaking into the living room. Charlie doesn’t look away from the screen, focused on  whatever’s going on, but she taps the couch next to her to let Castiel know he’s welcome. When he joins them, Gilda places a bowl of popcorn on his lap.

They’re watching Stardust.

Castiel loves the story. Every single time, his heart is about to burst with feelings when Yvaine’s talking to the dormouse, and he freaking wishes someone, sometimes, would give that same speech for him.

When did he develop such a ridiculous obsession with love again? Wasn’t he supposed to only think of himself for a while? Then again, it might be better to think about love than give another moment of thought for the stalker.

Who the hell _is_ he? Why can’t Castiel remember? He’s heard the voice before, knew it instantly on the phone on that morning he received the call --ut who does he have in his life that he wouldn’t recognize easily? Sure, he met a lot of people when he was with Bartholomew, but that seems like such a long time ago now that he doubts he would know any of those voices anymore. What reason would any of those people have to try to drive him away from the Winchesters?

And why is it just him? All of his friends now are affiliated with them. Is it because Castiel has gotten himself closer than the rest of them? Or is it the possibly romantic aspect of his relationship with Dean?

His body shivers at the mere thought of romance and Dean. Oh, how he wishes things were different.

 

After Stardust is over and Charlie is browsing Netflix for the hundredth time, Castiel hears his phone beep in his room. He tries to get up lazily, as if he really doesn’t mind what James’ reply will be, but then he realizes his feet automatically turn on for a power walk mode, making Charlie yelp something after him.

He has to read James’ reply a couple of times to fully understand it.

_J: Are you sure it’s threatening?_

_J: I don’t mean to sound rude_

_J: So don’t think I’m trying to diss your feelings_

_J: But i just want to know you’re sure_

Castiel lets his phone fall on the bed and rubs his temples with his fingertips. What the _hell_ is going on? How can James try to downplay what Castiel has been through? Didn’t he understand him correctly?

**S: I’m sorry, what? Don’t you think I know what’s going on, James, okay? I’m not overreacting, this is a legit thing that has my on my fucking toes right now.**

James takes forever to answer again, but this time it’s because he seems to be typing and erasing for ages.

_J: I was just asking_

_J: Of course you know what’s going on better than I do_

_J: Try to not stress over it, k?_

Is James disappointed in him? Is he still bothered by the fact that Castiel spent nights with someone else? Or that he didn’t fully respond to James’ messages about not being able to get him out of his head?

Whatever it is, there’s no point guessing. He needs to just ask.

**S: What’s wrong with you? Have I done something to upset you? What is going on, James?**

_J: Nothing, why_

**S: Honestly? You’re sounding dismissive.**

James doesn’t answer anymore. Castiel flops face first into his mattress and tries to keep his crying quiet; he doesn’t want Charlie and Gilda making their way in here now. He feels heavy, and alone, and broken beyond repair; his limbs are numb and he’s too tired to panic. How much longer until things start to get better? He’s not sure how much more he can stand.

It’s unfair to all his friends for him to still feel lonely like this. Shouldn’t it be enough for him that people are here and that he’s cared for? Still, all Castiel wants to do is to text James again, to beg for him to stay and not try to put distance between them — not only because he doesn’t want to be alone, but he doesn’t want to miss out on this amazing person that he’s somehow ruining and driving away.

_But it’s nothing more than you deserve._

It makes perfect sense that James doesn’t care anymore. Castiel’s got nobody to blame but himself. He didn’t show enough interest soon enough and this is his reward. However much he wishes James would save him from both the stalker and himself, he can’t expect that to happen in reality. His friends would do their best, but nobody is going to hold him through these nights he spends crying and screaming silently.

Because he has to get better for himself, he has to also be able to do it himself.

He’s tired, and no amount of sleep is going to fix that. Still, he wants to fall asleep; it provides an escape he really needs right now. However, the second he closes his eyes it’s bloating wings, and disproportional flowers, and Stardust with a chopped dormouse. Why is his brain bullying him?

He pulls a pillow under him and wonders if Charlie or Gilda would hear him screaming into it. He needs to let it out. He needs to yell profanities and curse the universe and fall asleep out of exhaustion, but since he’s confined in silence by himself, he needs another outlet. He needs something that’ll yank him away from spiraling anxiety, something that could count as double exposure.

He picks up his phone.

 **S: James, I live in Seattle. I want to meet you at the** [**beach northeast from West Point Lighthouse** ](https://www.google.fi/maps/@47.6628322,-122.4318093,3a,75y,258.36h,64.97t/data=!3m8!1e1!3m6!1sAF1QipPs-nMDoPM6amwIBdquYqmcb786hLFnyU2O73q_!2e10!3e11!6shttps:%2F%2Flh5.googleusercontent.com%2Fp%2FAF1QipPs-nMDoPM6amwIBdquYqmcb786hLFnyU2O73q_%3Dw203-h100-k-no-pi-0-ya89.65738-ro-0-fo100!7i8704!8i4352) **tomorrow at 10 pm. If that’s impossible for you, let me know, and we can reschedule.**

James sees the message, but never replies.

 

*

 

Castiel takes the cup Sam hands him and tries to smile gratefully.

“I’m glad you could see me on such a short notice,” he says.

The sun shines mercilessly on the patio, but instead of warmth Castiel feels scolding, invisible flames. It’s too hot, too dry, and too bright.

“Of course,” Sam says, “and I won’t ask, if you don’t want to tell.”

“Yes, maybe that’s for the best.”

Castiel considers his next sentence before saying it out loud — it sounds suspicious.

“And you didn’t tell anyone you were meeting me?”

“As you requested, I didn’t. What’s wrong?”

Castiel spent all morning thinking about how to tell Sam what he’s going through without giving too much away. He’s not sure he’s any closer to a solution, but he’s got to start somewhere.

“I… My paths have crossed with new people, and not all of them are welcome.”

Sam frowns, scrutinizing Castiel’s expression. “What does that mean?”

“People have friends, but some of us also have enemies… And some of those enemies you can only get rid of by accepting help from the police.”

“Whoa, what? Castiel, are you in trouble?”

“I am. I’m sorry, I want to tell you everything, but I also want to protect my privacy. Please don’t think I’m keeping things from you for any reason other than fear.”

“Of course not. Tell me what you think you can. It’s not my place to make you feel unsafe.”

Castiel huffs. “Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it.”

Sam nods sagely, and crosses his legs under him. He starts twisting his back sideways, maybe to seem nonchalant.

“This much I can tell you, because it will probably be on the local news soon enough. The wings I used during my performance on the 4th of July were found mutilated and covered in- in something foul,” Castiel shivers at the memory of the smell that was close to a combination of spoiled blood and fertilizers. “They were hanging in front of my store on a noose.”

He wraps his hands around his knees in attempt to soften the hollowness in his gut. Nothing about this feels right, and he feels he’s continuously making it worse, too.

It’s half past noon and he hasn’t heard from James.

“That’s- wow. That’s really scary,” Sam says, genuinely shocked. He spaces out a little, and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Castiel.”

Something just went through Sam’s head, and Castiel is dying to find out what it was. Does he know of someone close to him that could do this?

He doesn’t ask. He trusts Sam — he’s not the type of person who’d withhold that kind of information if someone were in danger.

“I can’t sleep, I can’t remember when I last ate something that wasn’t… Well, tea, and my head’s a mess like never before. I’m trying to keep up to date with things, but honestly? All I can feel is fear, and oh, Sam, I am afraid. I’m not ready for any of this.”

“I understand. So I take it you’ve contacted the cops?”

“Yes, I did it as soon as I was safe inside the store. There’s not much they can do. It’s not only fear of an external force — I mean, anything could happen at any given moment, so there’s nothing new there. What I fear even more is that I can’t control myself, that these circumstances will drive away everyone I love and I’ll eventually go crazy.”

It feels nice to say this out loud. Castiel unwraps himself a little; his chest is a tiny bit lighter.

“I don’t think ‘going crazy’ is actually a thing,” Sam says warmly, folding himself into a downward dog. Castiel admires his breathing; it’s effortless, automated. He tries to place one of his hands on his stomach. He’s breathing wrong.

“I know. It’s not a thing that happens, no matter how much I’m afraid it will. I guess I’m more afraid to be perceived as crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam slides into forward fold, “but if someone said they think you’re crazy, would that be the kind of person you want to hang out with?”

“Stop being so reasonable,” Castiel says.

“I think that’s one of the reasons you talk to me in the first place. I’m reasonable.”

“I’m surprised I haven’t driven you away.”

“I don’t think you’ve driven anyone away, not really.”

“The way I’m ignoring both my work and Charlie right now? It won’t be long until everyone is bored with me. They’ll realize they’re better off any minute now.”

“Not all people want easy. Some want to help, and some want to relate, but I don’t think people become friends with other people just because they want _easy_. Besides, it sounds like you’re not ignoring them, just recovering from a trauma.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I have enough to offer to balance out how much of a dick I sometimes am.”

Sam lets him think in silence, which, honestly, is a blessing. However little he wanted to start exploring the outside world again, it’s all exploded in his face; work, the Winchesters, James, Charlie, and his anxiety. He’s feebly trying to hold on to some control over things that happen around him, but in reality it’s never been his to control. Even the times he let go of himself with Dean turned out to be some of the sweetest mistakes he ever made. So what’s truly holding him back?

He knows there’s a vital part of his time with Bartholomew missing, but he’s not trying to force it. Still, maybe opening that floodgate will help him see the big picture.

Another pressing matter is his invitation to James. It’s not likely he’ll be there, not when he’s still AWOL apart from the steady beat of his heart, but Castiel should at least try to make it himself? For some reason, he keeps hoping that it’s all been a misunderstanding, that James is so happy to meet him they’ll just laugh and kiss and drink coffee — and Castiel will finally tell him he’s been lying about his name, and that, too, will just be funny.

“So,” Sam says, startling Castiel from his thoughts. “Do you think you deserve being harassed like this?”

He hums, considering his answer. “I feel selfish even saying this, but no, I don’t. I know I’ve done something to draw attention to myself, obviously, but it doesn’t mean I agree with their reasoning or think their actions are just.”

Sam looks at him for a while before smiling. “I’m proud of you. Not only have you learned to think about deserving something in the first place, you’ve learned to realize that you deserve better than being treated like this.”

“I wouldn’t trust my judgement right now, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Sam nods.

They end up doing some silent, non-choreographed yoga on the patio. It’s nice.

 

*

 

It’s five to ten in the evening, and Castiel picks up his phone only to idly turn it around in his hands.

He glances around from where he’s sitting on a boulder, but the beach is empty and quiet.

Castiel spent most of the day just wandering around. He talked briefly with Charlie, but she was busy with protocols for the Winchesters and promised to get back to him as soon as possible. She assured him she’s fine just hanging around in the apartment and that Castiel should take all the time he needs to recover from the incident.

After what feels like an eternity but is exactly three minutes, he opens his conversation with James. He’s been worried sick and missing him all day, and he wants to use this time to try to reconcile.

**S: I am sorry if I’ve insulted you in a way that makes it hard for you to forgive me… Or even talk to me. I don’t want to give apologies that mean nothing, but I’m seriously at loss here. If you’d just tell me what to do, I’d…**

**S: I don’t know. Are you angry because I’ve spent nights with someone?**

**S: If it makes you feel better, it makes me feel like shit that I’ve spent nights with someone that isn’t you.**

**S: I don’t know why you would feel better to hear that I’m suffering. You’re one of the best, kindest people I know.**

**S: And I do realize if that makes you feel like I haven’t fully given you a chance… But trust me, I was never done giving you one. You’re my first love.**

He waits for the guilt that usually comes when he thinks negative thoughts about Bartholomew.

His head is silent.

**S: I’m currently sitting here on the beach where I told you to meet me.**

**S: I understand if you’re not ready for this, and I will not push you further; I only want you to know that I’m here, I’m ready, and I’ll wait. I think it’s my turn to wait, right?**

**S: Sometimes I also wonder why you left in the first place, if you’re willing to return to me after all. But I want you to know I’m not holding you responsible. I know you had your reasons.**

**S: Like I said, I know you’re a good man, James.**

**S: While I’m waiting for you, which I realize is a pipe dream since it’s now fifteen past our meeting time, I want to tell you what I feel for you.**

**S: You’re…**

**S: You’re what it feels like to come home after years of traveling. I’m sorry if I never made it known to you.**

**S: It makes me feel warm just knowing you exist. And I have dreams about you, both when I’m awake and when I’m not.**

**S: Besides your weird flirty quips, I’m not sure if you’re even interested, and a part of me wants to think well, why would you be? But a part wants to believe we’ve got something real here.**

**S: I was never not yours**

A twig snaps somewhere in the bushes behind him. He’s instantly on his feet, his last message unfinished and unsent.

He wants to shout ‘who’s there’, but his throat is suddenly dry. A thousand thoughts pass through his mind — _Why did he come here alone at this hour? Why didn’t he tell anyone where he was headed? Why hadn’t he made sure he wasn’t followed?_ — and although his feet are unwilling to move, he starts pacing along the shoreline. It’s possible the person in the bushes is James, trying to see if Castiel is someone worth meeting. That would imply that James knows the shore already, though, and where to stalk him without being seen.

Footsteps. There’s — there’s footsteps on the grass. A lot of the area behind the rocky shore is grass, and during this moment just after the sunset it’s impossible to see movement against the dark, tall trees. The lighthouse does throw a beam of white light across Castiel’s view every now and then, but it’s not helping — the moment passes before he can move his gaze across the area.

Still, someone is walking on the grass.

Castiel walks what he hopes is away from the sound until he bumps into driftwood piled across the strip of beach. He could easily climb over it, but it would cause a lot of sound and he’d likely hurt himself in the dark. He turns around just as the light beam sweeps across the grass area and the beach again — and sees a figure jump on the gravel. The footsteps that had just disappeared due to distance start again; this time, they’re heavy, and accelerating.

Someone is running towards him.

Castiel takes no longer to listen — he starts towards the grass himself, hopping over some bigger rocks and ending up on the soft, tall grass. He tries not to run, but his feet are taking him faster and louder than he would like them to. His heart is thudding in his ears, adrenaline is making his whole body sluggish, and no matter how hard he tries to inhale, it’s not working right.

When he thinks it’s safe to choose a hiding spot, he falls down on his knees and ducks under a bush that is in no way big enough to hide him fully; but now he’s no longer moving, and no longer making any sound apart from the rasping of his breath.

Then, silence.

Castiel is uncomfortable, and his knees hurt where they’re placed against some roots of trees behind him. After his breath steadies and his heart is barely palpable in his chest, He struggles to hear what’s out there, but there’s nothing but the waves..

Waves, and complete darkness.

The end comes fast. A phantom feeling of choking rises up in his chest, and then to his throat. As he lifts his hands to his neck, it’s as if his fingers are swimming through something thick — he’s trailing them through gelatin, or glue. He tries to gasp, but it comes out silent; he’s choking on something, something that tastes like salt and chloride. He’s screaming silently, lifting his hands against the roof right above him, and the only reasonable parts of his head are trying to figure out when exactly his stalker poisoned him.

The last thing he thinks about before sinking below the surface is that he needs to take the ring off — just take it off and it’ll all go away.


	17. The Patient

Compared to the complete darkness that had occupied all of his senses for who knows how long, the bright lights and electric beep he wakes to both hurt like hell.

Castiel tries to open his eyes, but the sun is too bright and white, and they immediately start to water.

A touch on his left arm. He instinctively turns his head towards it.

“Castiel?”

That voice belongs to someone who has never been this afraid in their life.

He tries to open his eyes again, this time managing a little better. A blob of red appears in his line of sight.

“Charlie, you’re standing in the sun,” he says slowly, and his voice scares him as much as his words scare Charlie — she places both of her hands over her mouth and shakes her head.

“No, Castiel, I’m not.”

He tilts his head back up and sighs. Air travels through okay. That’s one of the best feelings in the world; to breath after nearly drowning.

After — after what, now?

The memories are trying to escape him, they’re spinning out of control, like he’s holding quicksand in his hands. Quick. Quickly. He needs to say it aloud quickly so he won’t forget it again.

“Charlie,” he whispers.

He’s so tired. He needs to sleep all of this off and wake up again when it’s morning and the sun’s less bright.

“What is it?”

The words have already gone from him. It took too long for him to form a single name with this throat. Seriously, it’s like he’s been gargling with mercury. Heavy, and foul, and _wrong_.

He needs to try. The words might have gone, but Charlie is smart.

“There’s a,” he starts, “a future… submarine.”

Charlie huffs. “What?”

“The game that guy plays. With the exploding ship on the sea.”

“Uhh, battleships? Castiel, what are you talking about?”

“No, just a single traveling ship with many pods. It’s new. There’s plague.”

“What the hell, Castiel? Are you talking about _Subnautica_?”

Castiel tries to click his fingers, but they’re too dry. There’s something attached to his hand, but he doesn’t have time for that now.

“Yesssss. The design is the same.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honey,” Charlie’s voice is sad, “what are you trying to say?”

“Reverse pod.”

That’s it. It’s golden. Charlie would definitely get this.

“Like… A pod that goes … backwards? Back into the sky?”

“No! Reverse water.”

Castiel closes his eyes. He wants to sleep through this part. He always did, but never could. He hears Charlie start pacing around the room.

“Let’s see. Reverse water pods.”

There’s shuffling, and a clicking sound of a phone being opened. She’s probably googling what a Subnautica pod looks like right now.

“Uh. Did these run on water?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“Shoot. Uhh, the design is the same,” Charlie mutters.

More and more steps across the room.

“Reverse water, alright. Water’s in, not out. These are floating, so you’d be floating inside.”

Castiel’s chest feels tight. It hurts. Charlie clicks her tongue, only to play some time before saying the words.

“Castiel, are you talking about a sensory deprivation tank?”

He nods.

“Alright. Alright, good. Reverse water Subnautica pods, got it. Why are we talking about them?”

He hears something ticking; it sounds like a key being tapped on top of granite. Charlie’s making the sound.

He wants to fall asleep.

“What’s the sound?”

“Honey, do you know where you are?”

“What’s the sound, Charlie?”

“I’m sorry, but you need to feel better first. Or know where you are.”

Castiel opens his eyes and glances around in the white room. He would know a room like this anywhere.

“I’m in a hospital.”

“Do you know why?”

“Did someone try to kill me?”

He tries to crank himself upwards just as a nurse walks in through the door. They swap a couple of words with Charlie, after which his vitals and the IV are checked. The nurse offers Castiel exactly one sympathetic smile, after which they’re gone again.

“I don’t… Nothing points to that. You were found by a dude who ran after you for a while and then wondered where you went. He was coming for you because his boyfriend got shit-faced and passed out. He wanted to see if you had a phone that he could borrow. According to him, you were alone.”

“So nobody was following me?”

“Yeah, seems like. That why you were in the bushes?”

“Yes.”

There’s the tapping sound again. Charlie has something between her fingers.

“Are you going to tell me about sensory deprivation tanks?”

“Eventually. Why am I in the hospital?”

“You… You were found unconscious. Seems like anxiety finally got to you. You should be fine after a little rest, but I’ll make sure they keep you for at least one more night.”

“Aren’t these gadgets a bit dramatic?”

She glances at the IV and the heart rate monitor before clicking her tongue again.

“Might be, but I want to play it safe. You haven’t exactly been eating well.”

Castiel tries his best to give Charlie a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Do you want to try eating already?”

“What’s the sound?”

Charlie lowers his gaze to his fingers on the table, as if she’s only now realizing she’s doing something with them.

“Hmm, a nurse had information about this.”

She lifts her hand, and there’s a ring on her grip. It’s similar to what Castiel is wearing, but a little warped, somehow.

“What?”

“They said a man was here. He left this for you.”

Castiel reaches out, gesturing Charlie to give him the ring. It’s exactly like his — but the small silver band inside, the sensor for heartbeats, is gone.

“What is this?”

Charlie tilts her head.

“Kiddo, don’t be daft.”

“I mean, I know what this is,” he clarifies quickly, “but I still feel his heartbeat on my ring. What the hell is going on?

_How did he know? And why didn’t he stay?_

Charlie, obviously, has no answers for him. Feeling both grateful that James had come after all and angry at him for bailing, Castiel turns his back to her and tries to fall asleep.

*

Deserving.

It always comes down to _deserving_.

 

First, Castiel had secretly been furious. He hadn’t understood how Bartholomew thought timeouts would help — and he had even explained it.

“I had this done when I was a child,” Bartholomew said, his grip firm on Castiel’s bicep. The authoritative tone in his voice was imminent. “Although, we didn’t have high-end technology. I needed to stay in a dark closet until I was ready to come out.”

Castiel hadn’t been home when the tank was delivered; there had been talk about what they’d do to the extra room in the basement, but he’d thought they’d decide it in the future.

Then again, so did Bartholomew, probably. Apart from the sensory deprivation tank worth more than Tea Party’s turnover in a month, the room was still basic white tiles on the floor and concrete on the walls.

“Take your clothes off. I’ll explain this to you when you get in.”

Castiel nodded and did what he was told. The situation had him disturbed enough to not even try to make a run for it. Besides, where would he go? His apartment was long gone, and escaping to his friends would make it seem like Bart was a bad person. He definitely wasn’t. Castiel was starting to see the whole picture here. He was the one who was bad.

“Now, this tank is filled with water and what’s called Epsom salt. The salt content is high enough for you to be able to float freely with no fear of drowning.”

“And you think I should timeout in this tank.”

“Well, people use this to relieve anxiety. Thought you’d be interested in that, since you’re so adamant about having anxiety.”

Castiel clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

“Epsom salt will relax your muscles, and help with your circulation. You’re going to need that considering how tightly you’re wound up right now.”

“When do I get out?”

“Get in first,” Bartholomew said with an impatient nod. Castiel stepped over the side of the pod and stood in the middle of the thick, glue-like water.

“I’m in.”

“Now, why did we come here?”

“I said you were being unreasonable when you were just worried for me.”

“Yes, you were out late, and didn’t tell me where you were. I was so worried about you, love.”

Bartholomew’s hand was slowly pressed on Castiel’s cheek, and then he gripped the lid of the pod.

“You can come out when you think you deserve it.”

 

Time worked differently inside the isolation tank. After what could’ve been five or fifty minutes, Castiel remembered he hadn’t eaten since lunch today. He’d stayed late at work, and gotten so lost in counting inventory he just didn’t think calling Bartholomew should be first on his list. Of course, from now on, he’d know differently. He was angry at Bartholomew for thinking he’s a child; a child that needs a freaking time-out couch like those misbehaving brats on TV shows. He was an adult, and they were supposed to be equals in this relationship.

The thought of Bartholomew being unfair was too much — that’s what eventually brought Castiel back down from the high of his wrath. That, and the realization that there was absolutely nothing wrong with being in a pod like this. It was quiet, it was safe, and the water gently splashed in time with his breathing. He let his ears sink below the surface, and all he could hear was his somatosensory tinnitus. It was bliss for a moment.

Of course, the thoughts returned soon enough. When would Bartholomew want him out of here? Would he make him go back if he disagreed with the time Castiel deserved to lie in here? Castiel appreciated that the choice of when to leave washis, but it was already turning against him. What if he was a disappointment by thinking what he’d done wasn’t that wrong? How much time had passed since he was left here anyway? Would it be dangerous to stay here too long?

Then, anxiety came. The calming waters of Epsom suddenly turned into scalding lava around his body; he tried to exhale but couldn’t fully empty his lungs. His next inhale brought some of the saltiness in, and damn, that was some salty water — all the tiny paper cuts he had in his body felt like stabs. He wanted nothing more than to lift his hands up above him and push the lid open, but he wasn’t sure if his time was done yet, and his feet wouldn’t have carried him anyway.

What if he passed out here? Would he drown?

 

Castiel can only fully recall one of the times he came out from the tank. It had been a particularly juicy fight about how Bartholomew felt Castiel was paying too much attention to men on TV, and he had just been waiting for the solution of a CSI case. Bartholomew had told Castiel he could come out when he could “undoubtedly prove that you only have eyes for me”. When he eventually emerged, his feet wobbly on the tiles and holding on door frames to get forward, Bart had come downstairs and helped him to bed. He’d made Castiel beg for permission to touch him, and to practically write sonnets of  his striking beauty, until he considered Castiel forgiven.

When Castiel thinks back on this now, he doubts that he had been in a mental state lucid enough to give his consent. That was never even a question; he had just been desperate to get Bart’s forgiveness and when he’d deserved it, he was happy.

Then, December came.

Now that Castiel understands exactly what has been done to him, anger flares up in his chest. The reason he asked Bartholomew to _please, don’t_ was because next second, he was on his legs, being forcefully shoved down the stairs and into the tank. He wasn’t given the luxury to take his clothes off — for a moment, he was sure Bart would try to push him underwater and drown him and he braced himself with breathing in so far it hurt in his lungs. He was choking for a moment until he realized he was still afloat, and then the lid came down.

Silence and darkness he could deal with. Those he had known many times before in this tank. What was different, though, was that this time, something heavy was placed on top of the lid; Castiel was pretty sure the only large, but portable thing in the next room was a nightstand on its way to be repainted. No matter how hard Castiel banged his fists against the lid and yelled, Bartholomew didn’t let him out. The panic rang in his ears and stiffened his neck until he couldn’t fully turn his head anymore, and he kept on shaking his hands because they started to feel they didn’t belong to him. Stones and nails surged inside his bloodstream, and all of his senses were telling him that he was going to die here.

Minutes turned into hours, and eventually the panic ebbed into a metal hoop around his chest. He tried to take calm, steady breaths, but he didn’t really know how — his lungs hurt, his ribs felt broken, and his neck felt like he’d tried to swallow a boiled egg with its shell still attached. He kept his eyes closed to convince himself he was in charge of the amount of light, and that whenever he wanted, he could see sunlight again.

There was no anger in him. There was only _tired_.

Eventually, of course, Bartholomew returned to the room. He lifted the nightstand off the lid and opened the pod. In his eyes, there was something almost apologetic, but they hardened fast.

“I thought I couldn’t live without you, Castiel,” he said. “I wanted to keep you all to myself.”

His voice sounded loud and warped. Castiel would’ve preferred silence right now. In the light of the room, he realized his knuckles were bleeding.

“But you’ve hurt me worse than I’ve ever been hurt before,” Bart continues. Castiel nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “I can’t let you hurt me anymore. I deserve better.”

He turned around to grab something from the floor. It was a large box of chocolate meringue. Thoughtfully, Bartholomew opened the lid and took one, scrutinizing it between his fingertips with a quiet ‘hm’.

Then, the meringue was flying. It splashed forcefully into the pod just in front of Castiel, and before he could blink, the whole box flew behind it. Salt water splashed into Castiel’s eyes and he was about to wipe it off with his hands before realizing they, too, were wet.

“Have your fucking pity party alone, is what I say! I am done watching over you, done with trying to help you, fucking,” the whole pod rattled from the strength of his kick on the side of it, _“done_ with your pretentious fucking tea bullshit!”

He turned to leave, but then turned around again, his finger up in the air.

“Castiel Novak, if I ever see you again, following me, trying to make me see what you mean to me, I will make sure you’ll never get out of this fucking tank!”

Castiel didn’t dare exhale before the front door slammed shut. Chocolate made the salt water smell odd, but he didn’t want to get up; it was getting cold, but he was certain he deserved to be here, to stay here in this tank, until he was worthy.

 

 

*

After Charlie leaves for a Starbucks run, Castiel presses the nurse call button. It takes a mere minute for someone to arrive.

“Hi,” he says politely. “What’s your name?”

“Hello, Castiel. I’m Kate. Did you need something?

“Nice to meet you. You don’t happen to know anything about me? I mean… I know how I got here, but after that, it’s a bit of a blur. Specifically, I would like to talk to the nurse that was in contact with the man who brought this ring for me.”

Kate goes over to the statistics board and glances through it.

“Hmm, you were admitted in the night. I’ll have to see who our night nurse was. I only just got here, so I’m sorry, I can’t tell you anything else yet.”

“It’s okay. Actually, there’s a thing you could help me with. Is there someone who could help me find a psychiatrist? I’m… I’m really going through something here, and I’m barely holding on. My kettle will boil over any second now, so it’s really important for me to talk to someone.”

“Sure, I can see if I can get a hold of our psychiatrist. You can talk with her about how to go on with this.”

“Thank you, Kate.”

“I have to ask you, though. Are you a danger to yourself at this moment?”

“No, I don’t think I am.”

Kate nods and leaves the room. Castiel hopes she remembers to contact the nurse, too.

Now, he needs to talk to James. The last message he was typing on the beach is still waiting to be delivered, and it makes him feel a little hollow. There’s no new messages, though.

**S: I have no idea what’s going on right now, James.**

**S: Apparently, I’m in a hospital, and even more apparently, you’ve been here, too.**

**S: How the fuck did you know how to come here? That makes absolutely no sense to me.**

**S: I’m sorry I was ugly when we first met. I would’ve liked to wear a suit or- or something nice.**

James comes online and sees the messages, but leaves again. The hollowness inside Castiel only deepens. Is he going to lose James again?

**S: If you only told me what I’ve done wrong.**

This time, James actually starts typing. It makes Castiel’s heart jump, but it also nauseates him.

_J: Nothing_

Castiel is ready to throw his phone to the nearest wall, but it buzzes again

_J: Shit_

_J: Man_

_J: If I only knew what to say right now_

_J: Give me… give me a little time?_

_J: Hell, I think I need years of time_

_J: But give me a little time right now, okay? There are so many things I need to say, but I have to figure out how to say them_

Castiel’s nausea only worsens. He’s not good with time, but for James, he’s willing to try. He sends a quick OK just before Charlie returns with hot marshmallow lattes in hand.

 

 

The nurse responsible for the conversation with James is Tessa. She’s off duty tonight, but Kate was kind enough to approach her over the phone and let Castiel talk with her.

“Yes, I remember him,” she starts hesitantly. “He came in a hurry, and left in an even bigger one. He told me to make sure you got the ring.”

“Did he… say anything? Was he acting… I don’t know, weird?” Castiel asks, although what he really wants to ask is _what did he look like?_

“He was probably just overwhelmed to see you in these circumstances. If you two are close, why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“We’re not exactly talking right now,” Castiel hums. “But thank you for this information. You really owed me nothing and I’m sorry I took up your free time. Can I repay you somehow?”

“Get well soon. I guess that’s it.”

Castiel ends the call and hands Kate back her phone. “Thank you so much.”

Charlie watches Kate go before returning to Castiel. “Well?”

Castiel lifts his hands to his face. “None of this makes any fucking sense.”

“Well, I bet. I mean, why isn’t he here holding your hand? Are you sure he’s a good person?”

“You know him too. You know he’s a good one.”

“Yeah. Still doesn’t make sense why he didn’t stay.”

“What shocks people enough for them to leave?”

Charlie shrugs. “Your face, maybe.”

“Am I really that much of a disappointment?”

She laughs, and checks her phone before answering.

“From what I’ve learned, if you love someone, their faces just… become them, in a way. I’m sure he only sees your good side.”

“Wait,” Castiel says, frowning. “Colleague. Tessa said James heard that I’m here from a colleague. Has he found out where I work? How is that possible? When I last checked, he didn’t even know my real name.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t sound…”

Charlie’s face falls a little, but she hides it surprisingly well. She picks up her phone again, and starts typing. Castiel turns his head towards the television that’s showing local news. No sign of his wings yet. Maybe that’s for the better.

“Meg’s coming,” Charlie says, her voice stuck in her throat all of a sudden. “And I guess some others, too. I just realized I haven’t told them you’re awake.”

“I could’ve done it myself.”

He reaches out for the work phone that’s neatly placed a bit further from him. There are texts from Sam.

_SW: Text me when you can_

_SW: I heard you’re in the hospital, is that right? We’ll come see you right away, I’m just coming from a meeting out of town_

_SW: I’ll pick Dean up first_

_SW: I hope that’s OK that we’re coming… But we’re worried about you._

The messages arrived after midnight. Great, so Dean has been here too while he was sleeping? What a fucking rush hour, more visitors than he’s ever got and he didn’t even bother being awake.

 

*

Before Castiel is discharged from the hospital, he meets up with his assigned psychiatrist, Anna. After their first meeting, Castiel is pretty sure she’s an angel sent from Heaven itself — she’s witty, considerate, sharp on the uptake, and most of all, she’s not tiptoeing around Castiel. She’s proud of the progress he’s made thus far, but they set up a steady schedule of psychotherapy during which Castiel can finally go through what’s happened to him and find new methods to cope with his anxiety. It’s a relief to hear that even though they’ll go through diagnosis again, Anna thinks most of his symptoms are textbook anxiety and depression. Even more relieving is to hear that he’s _allowed_ to feel like shit at times.

Going through his memories for the first time was exhausting, but Castiel made it out alive. He can’t believe he’d forgotten such important pieces of his personal history, but he’s also feeling the forgiveness starting to make its way in.

The most important thing he realizes finally, after all this time, is that Bartholomew was never a good person. No matter how much he fooled everyone around Castiel, and finally Castiel himself, the truth eventually came out. All those times when Castiel felt unworthy, or less than what Bart wanted, or inadequate… were because of how Bart gently manipulated him, not because they were true.

It’ll take a long time to fix Castiel’s self-image, but admitting he needed that to change is a huge step for him. That’s what he also wants to concentrate on now, because if he lets himself think of all the things Bartholomew did to him, he’ll seek vengeance and end up in jail. He really wants to work to distract himself, too, but Anna makes him promise he’ll only do minor things for now.

 

 

All of his colleagues are waiting for him in the little van when he exits the double doors of the hospital. They gesture him to come in, and smiles at the sight of them as he does. Kevin and Eileen pack themselves in the back, and Castiel takes a seat next to Meg in the front.

“Hey!” Balthazar says, drumming his palms against the wheel. “Good that you’re here. You ready to get back to work?”

“Oh, please. Apparently, I’m only allowed small chores, but please let me work.”

“Well, we have a big chore,” Meg says with a smile.

“But you can start small, I guess,” Balthazar says. They seem to be filled with both excitement and energy, and whatever lingering thoughts of salty water Castiel has quickly vanish from his mind.

“Right, well. What’s going on?”

“We got booked for a party,” Meg says. “It’s a pretty simple ride. We pick the venue, we pick the decorations, we pick the drinks. There’s no eating, it’s a small event only.”

Castiel nods. “Do these people have any requirements?”

“Free hands,” Balthazar states with a shrug. “As long as, and I quote, it’s _romantic_.”

He bats his lashes for emphasis. Meg hits him with her hand to make him concentrate on the road. Castiel laughs, but he already realizes how hollow it suddenly becomes. He could do with a little less romance — considering how he probably lost both of the men he has feelings for during one night, he’s maybe better out of the game altogether.

“Do you want to go home instead? We’re actually going to see a couple of venues right now.”

“Already? When’s this party?”

“Next Saturday.”

Castiel feels a blush creep up his cheeks and he looks out the window.

“He’s got no idea what day it is,” Balthazar whispers. “Cas, it’s okay. It’s Thursday now.”

“What?” Castiel turns his head quickly enough for his neck to snap a little. “You took a party with one week of preparation time?”

“Customer says it can’t wait. Like we said, it’s a small gathering of around ten, drinks from someone on our side, and decorations for the venue.”

He shrugs. “I guess I’m coming to see venues, then.”

They drive in silence until they reach a hotel. There’s space for weddings and conferences downstairs, but the stone walls seem too cold to be cozy.

“It would really, really help if we had something to go by,” Castiel mutters. Kevin and Balthazar laugh at him — possibly because his good mood instantly turned into grumpy when hanging out with them.

“Well, the customer said they’ve read good things about our 4th of July event, and since we pretty much went with our own vision then, that’s what they want from us now, too,” Meg says. “So, we’ll go with whatever we consider romantic. Would you consider a place like this romantic?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Castiel mutters. “But it’s not the best choice. If we really can make the choice ourselves, I’d ask if the Japanese Garden happens to have an opening on Saturday. They have a beautiful tea ceremony gazebo and an amazing layout. Of course, it’s incredibly big for a party this small.”

“The bigger the better, am I right,” Balthazar says, gesturing at Kevin to do research on his phone about the Garden. “I guess that could work.”

“What’s the budget?”

Meg shrugs. “Unlimited.”

“What? What is this party about? A masquerade orgy?”

Eileen snorts, but says nothing. She turns to look at the details in the walls and Castiel wonders why she hasn’t said anything all day.

“Do you think we bothered to ask? Romance, money. That’s all we needed to know to be in,” Balthazar huffs.

“Any more ideas, since you’ve obviously thought all of this through already?”

“Well, lanterns. If I could decide my dream romantic venue, the gazebo would have… lanterns, or light bulbs hanging from the ceiling.”

“That’s a cliche,” Meg says, hopping to sit on one of the long serving tables. “Balthazar, go get us some coffee, will you? Seems like we need to take our romantic’s opinions into account here and it could take a while.”

 

Castiel tries his best to come up with a romantic night in a garden, but the more he thinks about the details from drinks to decorative flowers to serving little bites of chocolate, the more his chest hurts. He’d hoped James would’ve had enough of a break already and contacted him. As long as there’s radio silence, he’s unable to move forward, and that might be the reason he doesn’t contact Dean either — no matter how much he misses him.

There’s something in Dean that has Castiel completely captivated, no matter how much he thinks  that it’s over -- especially since he hasn’t heard anything from him since they separated on Sunday evening. He hasn’t forgotten how he realized he was in love while walking home through town, nor has he forgotten how easy it was being with him all day  just holding each other. The more he thinks of Dean, the more he realizes he could give him the Stardust speech. His heart feels too big for his chest to contain, and whatever his gut is telling him about not deserving… Dean makes him want to give it a try anyway. The possibility of their relationship is what Castiel has dreams about; simple things, such as waking up to each other every morning, making coffee and sitting on his balcony.

Would Dean want to sit on his balcony? Would he let Castiel have parts of himself in a relationship?

Of course, the possibility of Dean being involved with someone else makes it hard to see things clearly. Castiel is jealous, although he knows  he has no right to be — he can’t exactly claim rights to someone who’s a complete person instead of property. Besides, the whole concept of a relationship is now warped for him; he doesn’t know how exclusivity works, or how ownership works. He really wishes there was a way in which he could know if getting serious with someone also meant giving up something crucial of himself.

And this is where James comes in.

They’ve known each other forever, and Castiel has never felt he has given something of himself away. Instead, James seems to fully realize who he is, and even more, make him more like himself. It doesn’t really make sense, but it’s got something to do with home. When all that was left from James was the ring Castiel got from him, that was his home. If all these years ended up with them finally meeting — preferably, with both of them awake — all the heartache, and all the longing would be worth it.

But it wouldn’t be worth it if all they did was see each other and consider each other not worth knowing in real life, parting at last for good. It’s as if every moment has been building up to that point, towards their meeting, and losing each other is a risk they should be able to take.

_Smitten_ , James said. Does that equal even close to what Castiel feels?

James’ actions during the previous couple of days also have Castiel confused. Why did he try to disregard Castiel’s thoughts and feelings about the stalker? He wants to believe there’s a good reason for that, but it makes him feel abandoned; especially when it’s followed by actually bailing on him for a couple of days.

Where is he?

Where are _either_ of them?


	18. The Love

Charlie leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes.

It’s been raining all morning, and they’re defying it out on the balcony. The flowers are enjoying the showers they get, and since it’s warm enough for a t-shirt, Castiel’s not complaining either.

“I can’t believe the shit that’s happened to you,” Charlie sighs.

“Me neither.”

“I mean… God, all of your friends were fooled to believe he’s a good man. I was under that impression when I first talked to you. The way you talked about relationships, and how you’re not ready to answer to someone again… That’s not the first thing I’d think about, but you did and it was a weird thing, a tell that you weren’t doing well. Guess all that makes sense now.”

“Yeah, it really does.”

Castiel follows Charlie’s example by leaning his head back. They drink tea in silence.

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know. Right now, more than anything, I would love to have someone by my side. Someone who… Charlie, please don’t misunderstand me. I love my friends, I love all of you, but I feel lonely. I want to be loved, and I want someone to see me like I’m the fucking sun. I want someone to see me the way I see-”

He sighs.

“I feel so ready to move past both Bartholomew and this lonely phase in which I wake up alone, go to sleep alone, and do everything in between those times alone. I… Fucking want someone to just…”

“Sweep you off your feet right around now?” Charlie laughs.

“Do I deserve it? Hell no. Do I still want it? Hell yes.”

“I feel ya, brother.”

“Hmm? Can you relate?”

“Yeah. I’m kind of waiting for someone to make a move on me, but apparently it’s not going to happen.”

“Do you want to tell me more?”

“Not right now, no. I don’t almost kiss and tell.”

They both laugh quietly, mostly because they’re both in need of joy.

“So,” Charlie turns her head towards him. “Who do you want to sweep you off your feet?”

The thought of _any_ romantic gesture makes Castiel’s chest clench happily, but he shrugs.

“Or would you rather have someone new?”

“Don’t make me choose. I will never do that, and that’s why I’ll be alone forever.”

“I do wish there was a solution to your situation,” Charlie says, and quickly sips her tea to hide an expression she doesn’t want Castiel to see. Guess it’s starting to sound pathetic for his friends too.

“There would be, if I could only actually make the choice between these people.”

Castiel finishes his tea and places the mug on the floor. Charlie and Kevin’s emergency tea kit is really proving to be useful.

“Why did he leave the ring, though?” Charlie asks. It’s a rhetorical question, but that’s exactly what Castiel’s been thinking, too.

“Your guess is as good as mine. I could just… Ask him, I guess, but I want to respect the space he wants.”

“Is that hard?”

“Like hell. I want to tell him to please not leave me, and I want to spend every waking moment thinking about what I did wrong in the first place, but I need to live.”

“You need to trust him. He wouldn’t just dump your ass.”

Castiel’s phone interrupts them. Lazily, he brings it to his ear.

“Hey, Balthazar.”

“Hey Castiel. You do realize it’s Saturday? You do realize you need to be at the garden, arranging things?”

“I do,” he says, getting up from the floor with a stretch. “Is it that time already?”

“It’s been that time since eight, thank you very much. Alright, get your ass in here. Bring some takeout, we’re all hungry.”

“I need to walk there, though. It’ll take a while.”

“Shit. Wait,” Balthazar says, and muffles the speaker for a while. Castiel looks at Charlie, who’s idly picking weeds from the pansies. “Okay, Castiel? Kevin’s going to come pick you up. You both get takeaway.”

“Sure thing, sir,” Castiel huffs, ending the call.

“Time to go?”

“Time to go, yeah.”

They get back inside. While waiting for Kevin to come, Castiel tries to find weatherproof clothes and ends up wearing a leaf-patterned raincoat with plaid boots. Well, it’s a good thing he doesn’t need to look romantic. He rummages through his drawers to find a couple of tasteful bracelets, and when he’s in his bedroom looking for a necklace, he hears Charlie’s voice.

“Phone’s ringing again!”

“Who is it?”

“No idea, unknown number,” she says, handing Castiel the phone when they meet in the hallway.

“Novak,” Castiel says to the phone, simultaneously trying to locate his keys.

“Hello, Mr. Novak, this is Jody Mills calling. Do you have a minute?”

Castiel mouths Jody to Charlie, who’s looking at him questioningly. She gives a thumbs up and heads back to the living room.

“Yes, a minute is exactly what I have. I was just heading out.”

“That’s great. Look, we’ve made an arrest regarding your harassment case. It’s someone who’s connected to another case as well, so for now, it’d seem like we’re going to keep him. If you want to press charges, you know where to find me.”

“Oh. Okay,” Castiel says with a nervous sigh. “What am I allowed to know at this point?”

“Well, we know his identity so if you want, I can tell you. There’s an upcoming investigation of his other crimes, so that I’m unfortunately not allowed to tell you yet.”

“Right, right. Uh. I might want to know who it is.”

“The suspect is a man called Zachariah Lashley. Does that ring any bells?”

Castiel scrunches his nose, trying to place the name.

“Fuck, it sounds really familiar.”

Jody Mills laughs. “Well, let me know if you remember anything, But for now my advice for you is that you take it easy. We’ve got the bastard and you don’t need to spend another moment thinking about him.”

He sighs. “Thank you for calling, Officer Mills.”

*

For the first couple of hours after Mills’ call, Castiel feels like he’s floating. He’s relieved beyond measure, and would really want to forget the stalker altogether, but soon enough his mind starts wandering back to the name. He’s sure he’s heard it somewhere — in the same way he’s sure he’s heard the voice before — but being unable to place it really drives him out of his mind. During their planning, which mostly consists of hanging lanterns and light bulbs under the gazebo ceiling and hiding from the rain, he lets his colleagues in on the call but isn’t willing to talk more.

Then, when all of the flowers and fires have taken their rightful places and the park is closed from outsiders, he decides to Google Zachariah Lashley. First, there’s issue articles from local business papers, and news from the Winchesters; it doesn’t surprise Castiel, because he knew this guy would have something to do with the company. But then he opens one of the articles and is greeted by the face of his stalker.

His blood runs cold.

He would recognize those eyes anywhere — although the contrast between a dimly lit bar and broad daylight is stark. This is the guy who came up to Castiel and suggested putting his dick in Castiel’s mouth the night he had the panic attack that Bartholomew handled poorly. He has to look away; it’s too much.

“Everything alright?” Meg asks. Eileen comes to sit next to Castiel and puts her arm around him.

“Uh, this is the guy,” he starts. “This is my stalker,  and I’ve met him before.”

“Let me see,” Meg says. She squints at the photo for a while before sighing.

“What a creep, right?” Castiel asks humorlessly.

“Zachariah Lashley,” she reads. “Isn’t this the guy who we had that first call meeting with?”

“Ah!” Castiel yelps. “That’s where I remember that name from.”

“Wow. What a freaking creep, indeed. Wonder what he wanted.”

“Me to stay away from the Winchesters, apparently. Although right now, I’m not sure of anything. The first time I met this guy, I was still with Bartholomew.”

“Do you think they know each other?” Eileen asks.

“I don’t know. I should contact the Winchesters about this.”

“I agree. But you can do that tomorrow. Right now we’ve got to focus on the rest of this,” Meg says, gesturing around.

“Aren’t we done?”

“Why, are you whining? You never used to whine about work,” Balthazar says, appearing seemingly from thin air next to Castiel.

“It’s possible that I’m bitter,” he sighs. Meg turns towards a box on the table and opens it to reveal chocolate inside. Shit, this is just getting better and better.

“You’re better off,” Balthazar says between his teeth. “Guy’s an ass. Always thought he was an inconsiderate ass, and boy, didn’t he prove me right.”

“It’s not only him,” Castiel mutters, pressing his head into his palms to hide for a moment.

“No kidding,” Eileen says, rolling her eyes.

“Come on, guys, let’s finish up,” Kevin huffs, appearing from the garden with a pile of glasses in hand. “We need to mix the tea drink, and it’s already ten to eight.”

“Shit!” Castiel says, swiftly getting up. “How do I always lose track of time?”

“There’s a lot on your plate. Forgive yourself,” Meg states.

They finish with the drinks just as the rain stops beating against the roof. Castiel’s looking around to see if they’re already keeping their clients waiting, but everything seems to be alright for now.

“I think this is it,” Eileen says fondly. No wonder; it looks amazing. The evening’s just started to settle in, and the lights hanging from the ceiling illuminate the gazebo softly. Two glasses have been prepared for some of the guests, and there’s a carafe waiting for the rest of them. It’s a place to make beautiful memories in.

“Yeah, we’re done. Let’s go,” Meg says, stepping back, still looking at the sight as if it’s a little holy. They slowly make their way back to the car in the fresh scent of a summer evening after rain.

Just as Balthazar turns the key in the ignition, he realizes something with a groan.

“Fuck,” he says softly, tapping through his pockets. “I left my phone on the gazebo bench.”

“Really?” Meg huffs. “Great shit, man. It’s not like any of us has anything to do on a Saturday night.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Balthazar quips and turns to Castiel. “I’ll back up the car while… Could you be a dear?”

Castiel rolls his eyes and releases his seatbelt. Balthazar yells his thanks as he slams the door closed.

*

 

Castiel slowly makes his way back towards the gazebo. His raincoat frustrates him — he didn’t think to take it off while at the van, and he’s getting hot under it. His boots, on the other hand, he still very much likes. The garden is muddy at some points, and dress shoes wouldn’t exactly help here.

Someone’s standing in the gazebo. Oh, god, this will be embarrassing. Did the clients want the Tea Party people to be invisible? Well, that isn’t going to happen now. Why didn’t he ask Balthazar where the phone is? Now he’d have to go through all the surfaces while avoiding direct eye contact with the man standing in there.

“Excuse me,” Castiel says awkwardly, gazing around for the phone. “I think I-”

“Hey, Cas,” a warm voice says. Castiel’s heart feels like it’s just been taken in a firm grip and punched around a little as he realizes who he’s here with.

He slowly raises his gaze, painfully aware of how much he’s blushing by the mismatch of him in a raincoat and — and Dean Winchester, in a vest and a tie.

“Hello, Dean.”

Oh fuck. Out of all the parties he could’ve crashed, he chose this one.

Dean slowly walks to the table and takes a glass of sparkling tea in his hand.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just looking for a phone.”

“Yes, that’s what I was told,” Dean says, and exhales heavily. He’s seemingly nervous. What is going on?

“Told? Told by who?”

Dean takes the other glass and turns to Castiel. A smile crosses his lips briefly, as if he’s enjoying a private joke.

“Don’t know if the tea’s any good. I haven’t tasted it, yet. All of this was put together splendidly, regardless of how little time I gave the party planner.”

“This is- Is this your party?”

Dean lifts his glass with another smile, and hands the other to Castiel. He takes it, frowning.

“Do you have a moment? I need to tell you something.”

Castiel distracts himself by tasting the tea. It’s perfect. Then he looks at Dean and holy crap, he looks good under the lanterns. Castiel’s head starts to swim as if he’d had a lot more to drink.

Should he see what Dean has to say? Would his friends get angry? Despite feeling selfish, he nods.

“Yes, I’ve got a moment.”

“Good. Look, I’m not big for speeches. I’m making it up as I go. So I hope it’s alright if I end up rambling.”

Castiel nods. “Is everything alright?”

“I was hoping we’d catch Zachariah before tonight, so you wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore,” Dean starts. “There’s been resistance towards change as long as we’ve been in the business, but until now, we haven’t been able to pinpoint the masterminds behind these operations. In addition to Zachariah, Crowley’s in on this. He might actually be in charge.”

“So I’ve got Crowley to blame for the torment I went through?”

“They’re proud champions of the status quo and want things to stay as they have been for decades. You’re not the only person they’ve threatened, but it was never this serious before.”

“How,” Castiel’s voice is already breaking, and Dean seems to only have begun, “how do you know what happened to me? Did Sam tell you?”

“No,” Dean says, smiling. He clenches his fingers gently, examining them to give himself a second to think. “But I’ll get to that. I want to tell you how sorry I am for not realizing you were in danger from these people.”

“What? You can’t be responsible for everyone you work with. Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

“It’s just that I’ve known for a long time that there’s someone in my company that’s trying to sabotage things behind the curtains. If they had their way, we’d be these conservative poster kids of Winchester, Inc., while they pull the strings.”

“It must have been so hard,” Castiel says quietly. “Why didn’t you try to fire Zachariah, or buy Crowley out?”

“Our father left it to the three of us, so Crowley was included in the will. As for Zachariah, I wasn’t sure about him until I overheard his call with Crowley yesterday. They were apparently planning a new attack on your store.”

“Shit. Are we… Are we safe now?”

“The police have them both. They’re going to go through our books, because there’s bound to be something there. Zachariah works in accounting, and probably has all kinds of buddies around the place. It makes me sick, and once again, I’m hoping I can jump ship.”

“Why don’t you?”

Dean looks almost offended, but his expression melts quickly, as if he never thought it through in the first place.

“That’s not why we’re here,” he says hastily, “we’re here to talk about something a lot more important than Winchester, Inc. I just wanted to tell you that I am sorry, and I regret I didn’t see you struggling before it was too late.”

“It wasn’t too late. I’m fine. I am physically uninjured, and now it’s over. Besides, I could’ve just told you.”

Dean nods, swallowing. He lowers his gaze to the bubbles in his glass and Castiel instinctively steps closer. They’re inches away now, but for some reason, the lack of personal space feels reassuring.

“What is it, Dean?”

“I don’t have the words for what I want to say.”

Castiel places his hand on Dean’s elbow, and Dean looks at him through his lashes.

“It’s okay, you can say it,” Castiel whispers. He tries not to think about what’s to come next — that Dean’s waiting for the other person he has feelings for? That they need to break up anyway? He bites his lip to stop himself from thinking about the worst possible outcome.

“When I was sixteen, I fell in love,” Dean says, his tea shaking in his hand so hard Castiel decides to put it on the table for him. He never takes his hand off Dean’s arm.

“Okay,” he says, encouraging Dean to continue.

“This guy… He was my world. Man, he was awesome — smart as fuck, and he had this dry sense of humor that never ceased to make me laugh. I’d never thought I’d be happy without a physical relationship, but I rarely ever thought about it with him. He made me truly happy.”

Castiel takes a deep breath in and a slow one out. This is hard for him to hear, but he’s going to be supportive at any cost.

“That was, of course, until my Dad found out I was involved with a guy — and he said he wouldn’t make a big deal out of it if I let go then, but  I didn’t.” Dean looks away for a while, gathering his thoughts. “I lied to my dad because it was a fucking breeze, keeping everything a secret -- until he found our emails.”

Dean lifts his hands and they hover over Castiel’s shoulders, but he curls them into fists puts them down. Castiel feels the phantom touch for a while.

“I shouldn’t  have let him separate us, especially since I was an adult by then, but, uh, there was Sam who I wanted the best for, and oh God, it was horrible.”

Castiel places his tea glass on the table next to Dean’s, and lifts his hand to his shoulder. Dean leans into the touch.

“I’m so angry at him after all these years. He’s dead, and I’m still mad at him.”

“I can understand that.”

Dean huffs out a humorless laugh. “You don’t need to understand. I’ve been a mess all this time, and I’ve kept on driving you away.”

“So have I,” Castiel admits. “I didn’t think you cared about me, and it took me so long to realize that my previous relationship wasn’t exactly healthy.”

“Fuck that guy,” Dean says. “If there’s someone I hate even more than my dad, it’s Bartholomew.”

Castiel takes a step back, letting his hands fall. “How do you know his name?”

Dean sighs and looks at Castiel with an expression he’s never seen before. If the way he looked at him before was affection, or even love, this is closer to _devotion_. Shivers run down Castiel’s spine.

“Please don’t freak out, Cas.”

Castiel frowns. “Did you find out about him somehow? Who have you been talking to?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, pal,” Dean says, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Listen to what I’m trying to tell you here.”

“Okay,” Castiel says and puts all his fingertips on top of his mouth to show his silence. Dean looks at him, and he nods.

“After my dad found out about my relationship, I had to… I had to end it. It hurt like hell, but it must have hurt that much worse for the person I left, because I never got the chance to explain what happened. All I managed to do was send one last email to let him know I was okay.”

Castiel feels anxious and overwhelmed. Is he understanding _any_ of this correctly? He needs to keep listening to Dean even though he hears all of the sirens in his head go off —

“I never really stopped loving this guy, so after we initiated contact again it was so freaking easy to just continue loving him even though it had been-”

“Eight years,” Castiel whispers, and a helpless sob escapes between his fingers.

“Eight years,” Dean echoes. Castiel steps closer, taking Dean’s hands in his. He frowns down at them, because it’s all much more than he can bear. His eyes prickle and hurt and soon, he’ll cry like a child.

“When Sam and I came to see you in the hospital, I hadn’t made the connection yet. It wasn’t until Charlie told us what happened, where you were found and when…” Castiel nods, and his tears flow over. He keeps his gaze lowered, and gently caresses the backs of Dean’s hands with his thumbs.

“I didn’t know before that, Cas, I promise. She told us that and suddenly all the pieces came together. She and Sam were talking and I started staring at your heart rate monitor, feeling it echo against my skin in an identical rhythm and then I just...knew.” He shakes his head in shame and shrugs. “I think ‘James’ might have seemed dismissive of you recently because I was so worried about, well, _you_. The real you.  You can’t possibly know how freaking much,” his voice breaks and Castiel looks at him again. “How freaking much I’d wanted it to be you for so long. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I hoped.” Castiel nods and, on a whim, leans his head against Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean,” he whispers.

“Yes, Steve?”

Castiel laughs through his tears, shaking his head. “What the hell is a wristband?”

“Oh,” he sniffles. “I, uh. When dad first found out, and realized that ring was included in the whole gay deal his son was having, he made sure I threw it away. I picked it out of the trash, but just in case he was going to snatch it while I slept, I took the sensor and moved it into this.”

He frees his hands from Castiel’s and lifts one of them into their line of sight. He opens the wristwatch with his teeth and lets it fall on the floor with a thud, revealing a delicate, black band underneath.

“When I had to let you go, I took it off, thinking there’s no reason for me to keep it as a reminder of something I can’t have. When I visited my storage in spring, I found it and, _god_ \-- it was like coming home. I realized how much I had to let go of, and I wanted to at least give you closure, were you willing to just dismiss me.”

Castiel lifts his hand to run his fingertips over the smooth surface of the band.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispers. “I love it.”

Dean wraps his arms casually around Castiel, locking him in place. Hands down, this is the best feeling in the universe. He can hear Dean’s heartbeat, and it’s in time with the ring.

“I want to tell you so much, Cas,” Dean says, “but first, I think we should tell your friends not to wait in the van for longer.”

He kisses Castiel’s forehead, and lets him go. “If you’ll come home with me tonight,” Castiel says. Dean smiles at him, and a beautiful shade of red hides the constellations of his freckles.

 

*

Dean looks around Castiel’s apartment, empty now that Charlie has left town again, and walks to the end of the living room.

“It’s the balcony,” Castiel says. Dean peeks through the window with his hands shielding his eyes.

“Oh my god, it’s _the_ balcony,” he mutters to the glass. Castiel’s heart is about to burst at the sight and the sound of him.

“You want something? Coffee, tea, chocolate? That I seem to have a lot of, now.”

Dean turns and looks at Castiel, who pretends not to notice it for a while, but it gets a bit creepy eventually.

“What?”

“You’re stunning, Castiel,” he whispers. “I can’t even.”

“Tea it is,” he says, blushing vigorously. Dean nods, walks to the kitchenette and hops up on the bar table.

“Do you ever think what would’ve happened if I’d come here before? What if I’d come to your place for the night?”

“Do I ever think,” Castiel huffs, rolling his eyes but still smiling. “What do you think? I’ve literally had an hour to process this. I swear, Dean.”“Still, I’m glad,” Dean says absentmindedly, and Castiel finally puts the kettle on. “I’m glad that we’re here now. I can’t be mad, because accidents don’t just happen… Accidentally.”

“So what your poetic ass means is that everything happened for a reason?”

“Yeah. That’s what I think.”

Castiel tries to inhale, but the whole reality of the situation sneaks up on him just then and it’s too much. He hears his breath trembling, and Dean instantly hops down, comes to him and puts his hands gently on each side of Castiel’s head.

“This,” he whispers, “this is one of the reasons I’m so glad I’m finally here. I can take care of you. I can hold you when you’re afraid. You don’t know how honored I am simply to be able to do that. Of course I’ll only be here for you if you allow me, but at least know that it’d be an absolute pleasure.”

“It’s too much,” Castiel mutters. “I’m not used to feeling this much.”

“Of course not. Neither am I, trust me. I… I’m just trying to think of you as Castiel right now, because if I really understand who you are and what you’ve always meant to me… I might explode.”

“I’m waiting to wake up any minute now.”

“Same.”

The kettle clicks. Castiel tries to inhale again, this time succeeding a little better. Dean smiles at him encouragingly and lets him go.

They drink tea on the table and chat about their days. Dean tries to explain just how hard it was for him to get through this week; he’s had a while to sort out his thoughts, and to chase down Zachariah, but he’s missed Castiel terribly. Castiel’s never seen him so animated, so alive — and for once in his life, he knows it’s because of him. For reasons he doesn’t fully understand, this funny, beautiful, loyal man is here; and even though no words have been said out loud, it’s obvious he loves Castiel.

Castiel wants to take a shower, but he decides to do it alone. He feels he’s emotionally raw and naked, torn apart and rebuilt, and he needs both a second to himself and a moment away from Dean’s distracting face. Dean lets him go without hesitation, which makes Castiel happy for some reason, but the instant the water starts pattering on his skin he feels regret. Kissing Dean under the shower has become one of his favorite things, and to have him now as not only a one-night-stand, but a —

A what? Lover? Boyfriend? Soulmate? They didn’t talk about any of that, although Dean said he wants to be here to take care of Castiel. He feels stubborn about that; he shouldn’t need anyone to take care of him, he should be able to make it alone, he shouldn’t become a burden to such a wonderful person. Then again, he never asked Dean to do that for him, but he’d done so instantly right there in the kitchen — even earlier than that, going way back to that night in the rain. If he lets his pride get in the way, he’ll never be truly happy.

Castiel thinks about the odds of him falling for both of these men that  end up being the same person. The more he thinks about the differences between the two, the more foolish he feels for not realizing it sooner. He thought he’d had it right once, but after that single phone test he’d abandoned the theory.

Why didn’t he realize that Dean could also have two phones? Even he had two phones, and he’s a small entrepreneur.

None of that matters now. What matters is that they’re here, and he needs to wrap his mind around this eventually, but it could be enough to just enjoy the feeling of being adored by someone he adores back.

It’s weird how he can miss Dean even though he’s right outside the door. Castiel goes through the motions of washing his hair and lathering soap all over himself, and while he’d be perfectly fine with just sleeping with Dean tonight, he could also… _sleep_ with him. That makes him giddy enough to laugh silently in the palms of his hands before he exits the room in his sleeping gear.

“Shower’s free, if you want,” he says to Dean, who’s currently scanning through his bookcase. Their eyes meet, and for some reason, they just smile at each other like dorks.

“I do, actually. Then, I have a suggestion.”

 

*

Dean’s suggestion turns out to be trolling the MMORPG environment. They take comfortable seats on Castiel’s bed and log into the server. Since they’ve got nothing to lose with their recently made accounts, they goof around with one of them; they try to join groups and get thrown out, ask simple questions about how the place or the weapons work, and move around with only dodge rolls and slow walking. By the time someone yells at them for standing in the way of a sniper, they’re laughing so hard Castiel’s seeing stars and Dean is rolling on the bed, coughing.

“We’re bad people,” Castiel says breathlessly, “they’re just trying to do their thing.”

“Well, so are we! So what if we’ve got, like, ten year experience of this game. We could as well be newbies who seriously can’t play well yet and yelling at newbies is considered uncool.”

“I’ll type it right here.”

“What?”

“I’ll type here, ‘I consider you uncool’.”

Dean snorts. “What doth they answer?”

Castiel squints at the screen. “Your mom’s uncool.”

“Oh, that’s so predictable.”

“That… Is… So predictable,” Castiel says while typing, “…lolz.”

Dean gets on all fours and crawls back to peek at the screen.

“If they’re going to answer ‘your mom’s predictable’, I swear to god.”

“We should also go troll the forums.”

“Yeah, we should,” Dean says, and takes the laptop away from Castiel.

“Hey!”

“My turn to type,” he says with a grin. He clicks a couple of times to reach the forums.

Castiel, in the meantime, can no longer take his eyes off Dean. He watches his profile, how he bites his lip when he concentrates, and how his pulse is barely visible on his neck. Again, Castiel is astounded that it matches the beat of his ring.

“Dean,” he whispers. Dean, who’s already started typing a question titled “How do you equip a mana boost ring”, leans towards him to show his attention. “May I touch you?”

Dean frowns at the message, but his lip twitches in amusement. “Consent given.”

Castiel places his hand on Dean’s chest. For a moment, he just enjoys the warmth and the beat of the heart he loves the most in this world. Then he leans closer and kisses Dean’s neck lightly. He can hear Dean’s breath hitch, but he insistently keeps on typing. Castiel lets his lips travel along Dean’s jaw and find the pulse point he saw just now, and when he gently scrapes his teeth on his skin Dean squeezes the laptop screen so firmly it makes a light snapping sound.

“Keep typing, James,” Castiel mutters, “you wanted to troll the forums.”

Dean sighs and forces his fingers to start tapping again. Castiel moves his hand to the other side of Dean’s head and presses his lips against his flesh, twirling his tongue to taste the sweetness of his newly-washed skin. Dean smells incredible, like the remnants of his cologne from earlier mixed with Castiel’s soap, but also like himself. It’d easily overwhelm Castiel if he weren’t set on his task of breaking Dean apart, piece by piece. So far, he’s doing well — Dean’s squirming under his lips, his breath is stuttering and his fingers are pressing buttons that make the laptop ding.

With a thud, Dean closes the lid of the computer and takes Castiel’s wrists to pin him down on the mattress below him. Castiel blinks at the sudden turn of events, but there’s no part in his body that isn’t aching for this right now.

Dean, the jerk, hovers over Castiel’s lips for a moment before pulling back a bit, letting his hands go.

“May I touch you, Castiel?”

Castiel tries to laugh, but it dies in his throat. Instead, he nods.

Dean’s lips are on his immediately. They kiss as if their lives depend on it — no kidding, Castiel’s life _is_ depending on this, he thinks hazily — and let their hands roam. Castiel sinks his teeth into the tip of Dean’s tongue, eliciting a filthy moan out of him, and grinds his hips up against his. Dean staggers for just a second, and Castiel takes the chance to reclaim the upper hand. He flips  them and straddles Dean’s thighs, running his hands up his sides and sliding them under his t-shirt. A part of him is enjoying how this has turned out; he’s more than willing to take care of the matter of Dean’s rapidly growing erection, but he also suddenly feels emotional enough to cry. When he pulls his hands back from Dean’s chest, he lets his touch turn feather-light.

“Dean,” he whispers, and Deans opens his beautiful eyes to look at him. They smile at each other for a while, and then Castiel leans in to kiss Dean gently, slowly, deliberately. Strong, warm arms wrap around him and when they turn over once more Castiel’s in a safe cage made out of Dean’s arms on both sides of his head.

“Hi,” Dean says. His voice low is filled with affection. “How are you?”

“Overwhelmed,” Castiel says truthfully.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

The endearment comes so naturally Castiel feels himself tear up. _Damn it. Not right now -_

But Dean looks at him as if he’s one of the freaking seven wonders of the world, and kisses both his eyelids.

“I want to hold you and watch over you while you sleep,” he whispers. “That sounds creepy, doesn’t it?”

Castiel shakes his head. “Don’t care if it does. I want you to do that.”

They wiggle under the blankets and Dean takes Castiel in his arms, kissing his temple, his cheek, and his neck before resting his head on the pillow.

This is Heaven.

 

Castiel wakes up to see the sun rise and feels arms still around him. They’ve only been resting for about  five hours and he could get back to sleep, but instead he turns to watch Dean. He’s fast asleep, eyelids moving in a REM phase, his breathing easy and slow.

Castiel knows he should let Dean sleep now. He could kiss him in two or three hours, no big deal.

The thing is he can’t. He’s been waiting to wake up next to James for so long, dreaming of morning kisses and coffee and cuddles and hugs —

He lets out an astonished sigh and slides impossibly closer to Dean.

“Hello, Dean,” he whispers, and when the man doesn’t flinch, he continues. “I am so blessed to have you here. I can’t believe you’re here, and you want to be here, and we’ve finally got this right.”

A smile tugs at Dean’s mouth, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Castiel huffs, rolling his eyes.

“I want you to know that I really want us to be, uh, exclusive. We didn’t talk about that yet. I want to be your boyfriend.”

Dean still pretends to sleep. Castiel presses their foreheads together.

“Dean, I love you.”

A gentle whine escapes Dean’s throat at that, and he wraps his arms tighter around Castiel. Without opening his eyes he finds Castiel’s lips and kisses him gently.

“I love you, Cas,” he answers. Castiel hides his face somewhere under Dean’s jaw and smiles. It feels like he’s radiating light from the inside. Is this what Jane felt like when she felt her chest glowing?

No, he decides. This must be more.

Dean’s fingers start drawing lazy circles on his back, and even though the touch is perfectly innocent, Castiel’s head is not. He remembers perfectly well where they left off last night, and right now he needs Dean closer to him; close enough to taste, feel, hear him.

He kisses Dean again, gently licking his way inside his mouth. Their tongues move against each other smoothly, with a certainty that can only come from a combination of trust and desire. Castiel feels Dean’s hand slide under his shirt, and he welcomes the touch — he leans against it, tries to memorize it with his every nerve. When it presses against his skin more firmly, kneading at the muscles of his lower back, he needs to lets Dean’s lips go to turn his head up and let out a quiet, blissful moan. Dean takes shameless advantage of the exposed skin of his neck and licks a wide stripe along it, dragging the tip of his tongue back to his clavicle.

Castiel presses his fingertips into  Dean’s hips and slowly brings them closer together. He lets his other hand slide under Dean’s boxers, palming his ass lightly and then with more fervor; he’s winding himself up fast just thinking how beautiful Dean is inside and out, and how he’s allowing himself to have this.

They kiss again, but this time it doesn’t last — Dean pulls back, holding both of his hands on Castiel’s chest, biting his lip to compose himself. It’s, by far, the hottest thing in the world.

“I’ve just realized we’ve never talked about, uh,” he breathes in and out, working himself up to finish the sentence, “things.”

“Things? Dean, you’re going to need to clarify,” Castiel says, unable to keep from smiling.

“I know this is a situation that could become really awkward really fast.”

“Go ahead. I think we can take it.”

“First of all, to answer your earlier question, yes, I’d very much like for us to be boyfriends.”

“I love it,” Castiel says and gives Dean a short kiss — or he meant it to be short, but Dean decides to deepen the kiss until Castiel is panting, rendered speechless against the mattress, and Dean is lying on top of him.

“We didn’t talk about whether you’re an exclusive top,” he says with a wry smile, “because if I had my way right now, I’d fuck you until you see stars.”

Castiel clears his throat because the impact this has on him catches him off guard. He’s not against the idea of bottoming, not by a landslide, but he’s never gotten such a kick out of it, either.

“Fine,” he sighs, and he means it to sound neutral but it sounds like he’s coming a little already, “fine, I’ll allow this.”

Dean smiles at him almost fondly before lowering down to kiss his neck again. Castiel closes his eyes and relishes in the feeling — the sun is rising through the open curtains, and there’s not a cell in his body that doesn’t feel loved and cared for in an earth-shattering way. He’s tearing up again, but it’s far from being overwhelmed this time; it’s happiness, such a profound, ecstatic happiness he couldn’t form coherent thoughts even if he tried.

Dean finds the lube in the drawer without ever taking his touch away from Castiel. Somewhere along the line, clothes get tangled in the sheets and need to be removed.Dean kisses Castiel’s chest, gently bites around a nipple, and returns to kiss his lips. Castiel sucks his lower lip into his mouth while he feels Dean’s lube-cooled fingers massaging him gently before slowly pushing a finger inside him.

“Castiel,” Dean whispers, and Castiel forces his eyes open. Dean looks at him closely before continuing. “You here with me?”

“I’ve never felt this good,” Castiel says and moans at the feeling of Dean’s finger cleverly moving deeper. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Look at me,” Dean asks, and although Castiel wants to roll his eyes back out of sheer, vivid pleasure, he obeys. Dean’s in awe over whatever he sees in Castiel’s eyes although he, too, is finding it hard to fully contain himself.

Dean has Castiel writhing and moaning against his fingers in what feels like seconds. Castiel’s not above begging for more, but right now it seems like they’re both too desperate for this.

“Do you have a-”

“Do you need one? I don’t think you,” Castiel’s sentence ends abruptly because Dean’s making him see those colors already, “I don’t think you need-”

Dean pulls his fingers out and gives Castiel a short, grounding kiss. He uses his free hand to intertwine their fingers.

“Alright. I need you to be really coherent for this. Can you do that?”

The phantom feeling of Dean’s fingers makes him moan. Fuck, no, he’s not coherent. He shakes his head.

“Good. Thank you, Cas,” Dean says, kissing him again. “I will then be coherent enough and let’s have this conversation in a less compromised state.”

Castiel keeps his eyes closed and tries to catch his breath while Dean puts on a condom. Then, he feels warm palms on his knees as Dean adjusts him a little before he slowly starts pushing himself in. Castiel doesn’t know what to take a hold of — he bangs his fists on the mattress, grabbing fistfuls of sheets, and realizes he’s not quiet, no, not at all — has he ever been loud before? Does that even matter?

Dean takes one of his hands again, pushing  further inside gently enough for Castiel to start moving against him. Dean places his free hand on Castiel’s chest, right in the middle of it, and moans. Castiel lifts his other hand on top of Dean’s and bites his lip to distract himself from the pleasure; it’d be embarrassing to not only come without being touched, but also before Dean’s even fully moved.

Then Dean bottoms out and sets a steady, slow pace. Castiel grips the headboard for support with one hand, but keeps the other one on top of Dean’s on his chest. Dean kisses him again and again and again, and Castiel vaguely notices he might be saying something, but he can’t really hear what. No — it’s Castiel himself that’s speaking, and Dean looks at him with so much adoration he feels the need to blush, but it feels too damn good. He lets out a loud moan and feels himself clenching around Dean before, without much warning, he comes hard and long and loud. He scratches Dean’s back with his fingernails, sinking them into his skin as Dean follows him over the edge.

*

They eat breakfast on the balcony. Dean sits next to Castiel on the floor and leans his head on his shoulder, letting himself be fed. Castiel’s heart is about to explode from all the love, and he mentions it a couple of times. Dean leans tighter against him until they realize how sappy this makes them and just laugh at it.

Castiel could really get used to this feeling, but the phone returns him to reality. He lazily rises up and pad to the bar table on which his work phone is buzzing violently.This time he recognizes the number.

“Hello, Jody Mills. It’s Castiel.”

“Hey, Castiel. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but could you come down to the station? We’ve got a new suspect, and he mentioned you by name.”

It takes a moment for Jody’s words to sink in.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. I can come  right away.”

“Thank you. Just a heads-up, the Winchesters might be coming as well. I’ll call them next.”

“Uh, it’s enough if you call Sam. Dean’s here with me.”

“Is that so? Alright, thank you for the information. See you soon.”

Dean’s leaning against the doorframe, scrutinizing him. “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Castiel says and for a moment, his brain comes to a halt as he sees Dean against the backdrop of his flowers. Such a sight. Painting-worthy. “We need to go to the station. Apparently there’s a new suspect.”

“Damn it,” Dean says and starts looking around for his pants that were left somewhere in the living room when he went to the shower. “Did they say who it was?”

“No. But he knew me by name, so that’s an odd thing.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, then.”

“How will we get there? I don’t have a car.”

“Do you want to take the monorail or are you more comfortable in a cab?”

Castiel considers this for a while. “I- Neither, if possible, but if you’re with me, we can try.”

Dean pulls his pants up and comes to Castiel. He kisses his forehead, both cheeks and nose. “You’ll be amazing. Trust me.”

Castiel nods and turns around to get dressed. No matter how many Deans he has with him, he still needs his bracelets for now.

 

The first ten minutes of the ride go perfectly fine, possibly due to the fact that they had to walk a little and Castiel felt really good in the fresh air. After that, he starts to realize it’s the first time in forever he’s taken a method of public transport, and that makes it slightly harder. The last straw, though, is a drunk man yelling. He doesn’t even know why it triggers a panic reaction in him, but it does so anyway, and no matter how much he tries to look out the window, he can’t escape.

As it turns out, it’s a lucky strike that he’s sitting and Dean is standing — because when Dean notices Castiel struggling, he comes close enough to block his view and slowly lifts his hands to Castiel’s ears. His vision is filled by the presence of Dean, just his breathing and heartbeat and scent. It doesn’t stop him from shaking, but the overwhelming sense of safety helps him get through.

Such a simple thing, that nobody’s ever done for him before. He feels a pinch of anger towards all the jerks who never deemed Castiel’s panic attacks important enough to notice of or help with.

Eventually, they make it to the police station, and Sam is waiting for them in the lobby. When he sees them, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god!” he yells, “I mean, look at you two.”

“Sam, shut it,” Dean groans. “I swear.”

“I mean, I’ve known about the Steve thing as long as Dean has,” Sam says, “but seeing you two together, finally… It warms an old man’s heart.”

“Trust me, it warms mine, too,” Castiel says. He looks down at his fingers that are still shaking, but right now, he’s alright again.

“So, what’s up?” Sam asks, trying to sound casual as they sit down to wait for someone to come get them.

“We’re together, that’s what’s up, for one,” Dean says, “and, uh, I can’t wait for this to be over with.”

“What are you going to do?” Castiel asks. “This is going to be a hit to the publicity of the company, no matter which way you look at it.”

“We’ve talked about that too, and we’ll be talking about it more before we disclose any details,” Sam says, pointedly looking at Dean. Before he can protest Jody Mills walks up to them.

“Hello, and thank you for coming on a Sunday. The suspect is currently in the office, we haven’t made an official arrest yet.”

“Why did this person mention me?” Castiel asks. Jody looks at him closely, as if considering what he can handle.

“Well, he refused to talk to us until he’s had a word with you. Come on, all of you. Let’s go.”

Dean takes Castiel’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly, but a sense of dread is settling into Castiel’s stomach. He feels like he’s going to be sick, and no matter how firmly he grips Dean’s hand, it’s not helping.

Soon enough, he realizes why. Sitting on the office chair in a suit with a smug smile on his face is Bartholomew himself. Castiel’s feet grind to a halt and he shakes himself free of Dean’s hand. Jody stands there in complete silence, just watching the both of them.

“I want to talk to him alone,” Bartholomew says, and his voice sends shivers of disgust all over Castiel’s body. “Either I talk to him, or I don’t talk.”

“Dream on, asshole,” Dean snarls. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s chest to stop him from attacking right then and there.

“Five minutes,” Bartholomew continues, pretending to be looking at his fingernails. “Castiel, you know me.”

Five minutes. Everything inside him is telling him not to do this. What if he has some information about the operations against the Winchesters, and he doesn’t share that information with the police because Castiel is afraid? It’s not that Castiel should be thinking about anyone else but himself; but he’s afraid he  won’t forgive himself for not going through with this.

“You can wait right outside the door,” Bartholomew adds to the others, “if the pig squeals, you come help. Including you, wannabe Hulk.”

Dean huffs out a breath that’s half wrath and half the desire to punch his teeth in.

“It’s alright,” Castiel says, keeping his voice calm. “Let’s do this.”

“Cas, no,” Dean says. His voice has gone from threatening to broken in less than a second. Castiel turns to him, and takes both his hands.

“I can do this. Afterwards, you can buy me ice cream.”

“He’ll try something.”

“I know. Ice cream after. Okay?”

Dean shakes his head and presses his eyes closed for a moment. Castiel’s resolution shakes as he realizes how much this hurts the man he loves.

“Okay,” Dean says, finally. Castiel gives him a kiss on the cheek before gesturing at everyone to leave. Then, before turning around, he lets out a long breath.

“You’re with the hulk now? Wouldn’t have believed you’d sink —”

“Enough,” Castiel says with a firm voice and turns around. He takes a seat across the table from Bartholomew and looks him dead in the eye. “What do you want?”

Bartholomew raises his eyebrow and scoffs. “How immature of you.”

“What do you want?”

“How have you been? Everything working out fine?”

“I believe it was your intention in the first place,” Castiel says, tapping his fingers on top of the high-lacquer table. “That I’d forget.”

“What do you mean?” Bartholomew asks. If he was playing games before, now he’s just waiting to hit the ball into the outfield.

“The tank, the condescending behavior, the manipulation. I bet I was your human experiment,  just a little blip in the grand scheme of things. You left me a wreck.”

He shouldn’t have said that. Now, Bartholomew looks pleased.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ask your friends, they all think I’m a decent guy.”

“Pretty sure they’re in the loop already. They’re not going to believe you over me.”

“You sure about that?”

“Absolutely. Now, what did you want again?”

“There’s a latch under the tank, and there’s a briefcase in there. I need you to fill out the papers before they go in with a warrant. You remember where my spare key is.”

Castiel frowns. “And — and I’d help you, because…”

“Because I promise to tell the truth about the Winchesters. Clear their reputation.”

“Their reputation is clear.”

“Not for long.”

“Right. That’s the carrot. What’s the stick?”

“If you don’t do this,” Bartholomew leans in, looking at Castiel from head to toe — although he can’t see much past his waist. “I’m sure I’ll find a use for you. After all, you’re in a relationship again. You’re so eager to belong to someone.”

Castiel leans back, pretends to consider. After a while, he slowly shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. You’ve rigged up my memory really well. I’ve no idea where your key is… Or your house, for the matter.” Bartholomew’s face falls, but Castiel gets up. “If that is all, I’ll be on my way now.”

“Wait,” Bart says. “If they catch me, I’ll be locked up for good.”

“I’ll bring you chocolate meringue, then,” Castiel says with a shrug. “Be careful, though. In jail, the only company you’ll have is you. Might end up destroying yourself instead.”

He opens the door to see Jody Mills, but before talking to her, he turns and locks eyes with Bartholomew.

“There’s a briefcase under the isolation tank in his home,” he says. Jody nods and heads to make a call.

 

*

 

Castiel wakes up covered in sweat, and for a moment, he can’t see anything. It’s dark outside, and Netflix has provided him with a “Are you still watching Jane the Virgin?” screen at some point. With the familiar electricity of panic in his lungs and veins, he exits his bedroom.

The door to the balcony is open, and the thought of fresh air almost calms him down. But what helps even more is that as soon as he stomps across the apartment, Dean comes to the doorway, watching him carefully.

“Cas,” he says. “You alright?”

Castiel nods to not worry Dean, and turns around to shake the numbness from his fingers. Suddenly, Dean’s hands are there with his — gently circling  his wrists, turning him around and guiding him to the couch.

“I don’t think I ever told you why I left the ring,” Dean muses, leaning back. Castiel realizes he’s probably doing that to keep him calm. Casual behavior. That’s good. “In the hospital, I mean. I only told you that it’s no longer functional. Well, there’s not much to the story, actually. You’d be better with another one, but I still want to tell you this.”

Castiel nods, turning his head to Dean’s direction a little.

“Well, for some reason, they had no pens. Like, what hospital room doesn’t have pens? That’s ridonkulous if you ask me. Nobody’s asking me. Anyway, I wanted to leave you a message of some sort that I’ve been there, just in case you couldn’t text me when you woke up or something. I used to wear the ring on a necklace under my shirt, and it was the only way I could tell you that I was there.”

“Shitty,” Castiel says, because that’s all he has the strength for.

“Shitty message? Wow, I know that. I immediately realized that after I left. It seemed like I’d dumped you. Like I saw your face and left you.”

Castiel laughs dryly. “Charlie thought so.”

“Did she now? That asshole. I’m just waiting for the moment she returns from her ‘quick interview’ in New York and I’ll kick her ass around the block.”

“Don’t.”

“Of course I won’t, silly,” Dean hums. His voice is calming. Castiel can already think a little, so he starts to wonder what set off his attack in the first place.

It’s already been three days since Bartholomew was arrested, and after that they’d briefly met Charlie, who had to go see if someone could put in a good word for her. They’d binged Jane, and slept late, and kissed on the balcony until it started to thunder. Castiel had been happier than ever during these three days, but something must be bothering him enough to wake him up in the middle of the night.

“Dean, I’m afraid,” he finally says. Dean leans forward again and takes his hand. “I’m afraid that soon enough, you’ll realize I’m not much. I mean, I have this apartment, but it’s not a big fancy loft one. I have my work, which is time consuming, and though it’s it’s creative and I love it, it’s not making us rich or leaving a big impact, unlike yours. And — and they say what you see is what you get, and I am so afraid to say that’s true, but it is, for better or for worse. I… There’s not much more to me than this. I don’t even have huge ambitions for what I want to do. I don’t know why you would want to spend your life with me, or even…”

“Breathe, angel.”

Castiel breathes in, and out. In, and out.

“Or even let me have this life. I mean, I’d be a lot finer groomed to the perfect standard that your lifestyle demands.”

Castiel hasn’t dared to look at Dean during his speech, but now he does. There’s sadness in Dean’s eyes — unbearable, endless, agonizing sadness.

“I love you, Castiel Novak,” he whispers, and for a fleeting moment Castiel is afraid it’ll continue with _and if it’s not enough for you, I don’t know what your problem is._ “And I’ve got all the time in the world to prove it to you, if you’ll let me.”

“Don’t be so patient with me,” Castiel huffs and shoves Dean a little. Dean only smiles and leans back in for a quick peck on Castiel’s lips.

“I am. Now, I want you to get back to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

 

The next time Castiel opens his eyes, he’s truly alone. He stays in bed for a while, enjoying the smell of Dean on his sheets, until finally making his way to the kitchen.

Where’s Dean?

He grabs a watermelon from the side table and slices it in half. He doesn’t feel like a fancy display, so he just grabs a spoon, hops on the table and gets eating.

Just as his chest is starting to ache from missing Dean, there’s a knock on the door. He takes his food with him as  opens the door with his elbow.

“I, uh,” Dean says, and his gaze falls onto the melon in Castiel’s hand. “Man, that’s brilliant.”

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says with a shy smile. “Where were you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Left you a note at the coffee machine, but you’re clearly too busy with that masterpiece. Anyway, the note didn’t say why I was away. So here goes.”

He yanks a suitcase from behind him. Castiel tilts his head.

“This is pretty much all of my personal stuff. Okay, I’m starting off a bit clingy, but let me explain. I hate the fucking apartment, you know I do. The only good memories from there are the ones I spent with you. If you want it for that neat sitting place in the kitchen, we can figure it out, but I thought I’d sell the shit. I do nothing with it. Same goes…”

Dean frowns, and shakes his head as if it’s hard for him to believe what he’s about to say.

“Same goes for the company. Sam and I are  planning for the future, and the future for us is outside that firm. He’s really enthusiastic about being  a full time yoga instructor, and I… Well, all I know is that I want to cut that tie to my dad. So after our names are cleared, we’re selling. I don’t have to work for that shithole anymore.”

Castiel lowers his gaze to the suitcase, and his head is spinning faster than a cotton candy machine. Which is an apt description overall.

“And, hmm. I want you to know that I’m here. I’m right here. I can go live with Sam, it’s no problem, but since you were afraid you wouldn’t find a place in my life… Hell, maybe you’re right. But I don’t have a place in that life either. Instead, if you want to make space for me in this wonderful, overwhelming life of yours where you can pick flowers in summer, and blend teas, and use a freaking diffuser, I mean what stores even use a diffuser?”

Castiel hums around the spoon that’s in his mouth now, and leans against the doorframe. He wants to hear all of this.

“I have dreamed of you for so long, and I can wait longer if you need me to, but I’m also pouring my heart out just in case you’d want to make a life with me. A life, and a home. I don’t care if your apartment is small, and I don’t even feel like I’m giving up anything of myself. I feel like I’m coming home.”

*

 

There’s an absurd moment of sunshine while it’s still raining as Castiel’s walking along the shoreline to work.

The summer breeze coming from the ocean is warm enough to allow him a t-shirt. He’s almost late for work, but he stops every now and then to pick a plant or a flower here and there — his Summer Sale blends are not going to make themselves, and it’s still two days until the next delivery.

As he turns a corner around a tall tree, he notices two sunflowers in full bloom. It makes him a little sad, until he categorizes the feeling correctly as _nostalgia_.

Yeah — it’s been a while since he’s fully tapped into his emotions. Anna, his new psychiatrist, still an absolute angel from Heaven, helps him figure things out.

 

It’s been a little over a month since Castiel found out James and Dean are the same person, and since then he’s been growing in leaps. He’s realized he doesn’t need to be ready for something amazing to happen; good things happen regardless of your permission. He doesn’t need to be perfect, and he doesn’t need to always oblige. Sometimes he forgets and thinks he’s a lost cause, but those moments will hopefully grow rarer as time passes.

He’s no longer an outsider to the world. He can leave home when he wants to, and if that’s the only thing he does in a day, it’s enough. Relapses happen, but they also pass.

 

The bell chimes as Castiel steps into the store and he’s instantly greeted with the scent of sage. He rolls his eyes at this new  tradition of ‘driving away past evil spirits from the store’, and he’s just dreading the day he walks in to find  a salt circle in the middle of the room.

Then again, maybe it’s a good thing. The memory of those wings still haunts Castiel sometimes.

Nobody’s at the front, so Castiel walks over to the counter and rings the bell. After a moment of hurried footsteps, a clerk appears with a smile plastered to his face. When he sees Castiel, it only widens.

“I’m never going to get used to you in that apron, am I?” Castiel asks. Dean walks around the counter and gives Castiel a chaste kiss.

“No, boss,” he sighs. “Are you coming to work?”

“Only for bookkeeping. I promise you, though, no money laundering.”

“Ass,” Dean says with a smile. Castiel pulls him in for another kiss.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met, and I’m not even lying,” he murmurs. Dean blushes and tries to dodge Castiel’s gaze, but gets another kiss instead. “I am so thankful to have you in my life, and I can’t believe you stood by me through all the times I was acting like an…”

“…an ass, yes. Well, you can make it up to me,” Dean says, raising his eyebrow. “It’s quiet.”

“Shush, you. You just want to see me on my knees.”

“Oh, I most definitely do.”

“Then it’s a good thing I like it,” Castiel mutters with a shrug. “Worse ways to die.”

“Why are you praising me?”

“I want to get all of this out of the way,” he says nonchalantly. “You know, as a ‘love you in case I die’.”

“We’re totally going to die, aren’t we,” Dean huffs, taking support from the counter. “Why did you come here to remind me we’re going to die?”

“Because I need to check that bookkeeping before we go, you mongoose. They’ll handle the store while we’re gone, but the bookkeeping? That’s my turf.”

“Another thing,” Dean says hastily as Castiel makes his way across the counter to take the necessary folders in his hands. “As another ‘love you in case we die’.”

“Sure, go ahead. I’m listening.”

“Your ring,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“For me to give it to you? No, you’re not taking mementos, Dean. Not all airplanes fall.”

“Do you know how long it is from here to Iceland? Fucking three and a half thousand miles. Not going to risk it.”

“Okay. So you want my ring as a, uh, pre-inheritance?”

“No. I want you to consider changing it from your right ring finger to your left.”

Castiel squeezes the folders in his hands as tightly as he can, but they fall to the ground anyway.

“What?”

“I obviously don’t mean anything by this now, and when we’re in an Icelandic geysir and I’m proposing to the most beautiful babe in there, you’re going to pretend you’re surprised. I just don’t want you to die not knowing that I mean to do that.”

Castiel shakes his head, laughing. Without much further thought, he swings his legs over the counter and jumps into Dean’s arms, wrapping his legs around his hips. He kisses him once, twice, as many times that he possibly can, but Dean’s arms start shaking so he flops Castiel on the counter without breaking their kiss. Castiel tries to weave all his thoughts and feelings into these kisses -- although it’s impossible and would, in reality, take forever.

But forever’s a good place to start.

 


End file.
